Values in Space and Time

A framework for understanding and linking multiple cultural values in landscapes

Janet Stephenson

A thesis submitted for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy at the University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand.

April 2005

ABSTRACT

When new development threatens a valued landscape it is not just the physical landscape that is being affected, but the collective memories, meanings and identities that the landscape holds. Planning theory and practice currently offer relatively little guidance as to how to address meaning and value, particularly at a landscape scale.

Recent literature from a variety of disciplines has stressed the need to develop holistic models of understanding landscape. Particular emphasis has been laid on the absence of integration of disciplinary approaches, and the need to involve communities in defining what is important and distinctive about their own landscapes.

The thesis sets out to develop a conceptual framework to assist in understanding multiple cultural values in landscapes. Although the primary focus of the research is to address the perceived shortcomings in planning theory and practice, its potential relevance to inter-disciplinary work also forms a major component of the research approach.

Values in landscapes include those expressed by associated communities and those identified through a variety of disciplinary approaches. Using case studies, the research explores the nature and range of landscape values as expressed by those with special associations with particular landscapes. It also examines the nature of the meanings and values ascribed by disciplines with an interest in landscape, and how various disciplines model landscape so as to convey these values.

Analysis of these findings generates a landscape framework consisting of two related models. The Cultural Values Model offers a conceptual structure with which to consider the surface and embedded values of landscapes in terms of forms, practices and relationships. The Dimensional Landscape Model provides a structured way of linking expressed values to the landscape, using dimensional concepts of nodes, networks, spaces, webs and layers.

The landscape framework is found to be useful not only for generating a comprehensive picture of key landscape values, but also in offering an integrated approach that has utility both for planners and for other landscape-related disciplines.

ii PREFACE

I have long been interested in the attachments between people and place. I was first made particularly aware of the cultural significance of the landscape when I worked as a planner in the Far North of New Zealand. New perspectives were provided through my work with the NZ Historic Places Trust, which supported me in exploring this issue within a heritage context. In 2002 I was chosen as the New Zealand representative at a month-long workshop on cultural landscapes at the International Centre for the Study of the Preservation and Restoration of Cultural Property in Rome. While there, I realised that the conceptual problems that had plagued me when attempting to understand landscape values were not mine alone. Catalysed by the experience, I decided I would like to examine the problem in some depth. This thesis is the result.

Thanks are due to many people and organisations for their support during this academic expedition. The Otago branch of the NZ Geographical Society offered me the first public forum in which to test some ideas, which gave me the courage to take them further. UNESCO New Zealand, the NZ Historic Places Trust, Opus International and the University of Otago all assisted me in attending the Rome workshop. The Department of Conservation and the NZ Historic Places Trust, who separately engaged me to carry out landscape-related research, both kindly allowed me to use some of this material within my thesis. During the research process, the tangata whenua and communities of the Bannockburn and Akaroa study areas welcomed me warmly, and provided inspiration and many cups of tea. My fellow PhD students, particularly Lucille, Sue and Sophie, were a great support and sounding-board. Everlasting thanks go to Judy Reinken, Heather Bauchop and Janine McVeagh for ploughing through the final draft to pick up those hard-to-find errors. To my supervisors, Claire Freeman, Ian Smith and Michael Reilly: your advice, wisdom and belief have made this a dream run. Finally, to my family – Guy, Erin and Bron – my tenacity was founded in your love, your support and your unwavering certainty that I could do this. Thank you.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Abstract ...... ii Preface ...... iii Table of contents ...... iv List of tables ...... ix List of figures ...... x Glossary of Māori terms ...... xii

PART I: SETTING THE SCENE

CHAPTER 1: LANDSCAPES AND THEIR VALUES 1.1 Introduction ...... 1 1.2 The problem ...... 3 1.3 The role of planning in landscape management ...... 6 1.4 The research question ...... 11 1.5 The meaning of ‘landscape’ and ‘cultural values’ ...... 12 1.5.1 Landscape ...... 12 1.5.2 Culture ...... 16 1.5.3 Values ...... 17 1.5.4 Cultural values ...... 18 1.6 Structure of the thesis...... 20 1.6.1 Part I: Setting the scene (Chapters 1-3) ...... 20 1.6.2 Part II: Developing the framework (Chapters 4-7) ...... 21 1.6.3 Part III: Testing the models (Chapter 8) ...... 22 1.6.4 Part IV: Drawing conclusions (Chapters 9-10) ...... 22

CHAPTER 2: REVIEW OF PLANNING LITERATURE 2.1 Introduction ...... 25 2.2 The development of planning thought ...... 26 2.2.1 Enlightenment and rationalism ...... 27 2.2.2 Post-positivism ...... 29 2.2.3 Post-positivist approaches to space ...... 30 2.2.4 Post-positivist approaches to knowledge and community ...... 33 2.2.5 Landscape in urban design ...... 36 2.2.6 Sustainability...... 40 2.2.7 Discussion ...... 41 2.3 Applied approaches to landscape assessment ...... 43 2.3.1 The significance of landscapes to communities ...... 43 2.3.2 Common forms of landscape assessment ...... 46 2.3.3 Landscape quality assessments ...... 47 2.3.4 ‘Natural’ values of landscapes ...... 48 2.3.5 ‘Heritage’ values of landscapes ...... 49 2.3.6 Example: the planning context in New Zealand ...... 54

iv 2.4 Towards an integrated approach ...... 59 2.5 Conclusion ...... 60

CHAPTER 3: THE RESEARCH DESIGN 3.1 Introduction ...... 65 3.2 Theoretical influences on the research design ...... 66 3.3 Development of the research design ...... 69 3.3.1 The nature of the research ...... 69 3.3.2 The scope of the research ...... 72 3.3.3 Sources of information ...... 74 3.4 Overview of the research process ...... 76 3.5 Research design for Sub-question 1 ...... 81 3.5.1 Research Component 1: Values held by communities ...... 84 3.5.2 Research Component 2: Values expressed by disciplines ...... 85 3.5.3 Research Component 3: Values expressed by indigenous cultures ...86 3.6 Research design for Sub-question 2 ...... 87 3.6.1 Research Component 4: Inter-disciplinary and holistic models ...... 88 3.6.2 Research Component 5: Dimensional models ...... 88 3.6.3 Research Component 6: Testing the models ...... 89 3.7 The case studies ...... 90 3.7.1 The role of the case studies ...... 91 3.7.2 The choice of case study areas ...... 93 3.7.3 Contextual background in the case studies ...... 94 3.7.4 The choice of interviewees ...... 94 3.7.5 The interview process ...... 95 3.7.6 The analysis process ...... 97 3.7.7 Ethical questions ...... 100 3.8 Conclusion ...... 100

PART II: DEVELOPING THE FRAMEWORK

CHAPTER 4: BANNOCKBURN PILOT STUDY 4.1 Introduction ...... 103 4.2 The study context ...... 105 4.2.1 The physical landscape ...... 105 4.2.2 The historic context...... 109 4.2.3 The planning context ...... 118 4.3 Case study methodology ...... 119 4.4 Valued components of the landscape ...... 122 4.4.1 Physical qualities valued in the landscape ...... 122 4.4.2 Non-physical qualities valued in the landscape ...... 123 4.4.3 Community concerns ...... 129 4.5 Discussion ...... 135 4.6 Conclusion ...... 137

CHAPTER 5: DEVELOPING A CROSS-DISCIPLINARY UNDERSTANDING 5.1 Introduction ...... 139

v 5.2 Discipline-based understandings of landscape ...... 139 5.3 Indigenous understandings of landscape ...... 154 5.4 Meanings and values associated with landscape ...... 157 5.5 The range of cultural values in landscapes ...... 163 5.6 Cleaving ...... 167 5.7 Conclusion ...... 169

CHAPTER 6: DEVELOPING A CONCEPTUAL MODEL: THE CULTURAL VALUES MODEL 6.1 Introduction ...... 171 6.2 Barriers to an integrated understanding ...... 172 6.3 The potential of an integrated approach ...... 174 6.4 Existing models of landscape ...... 175 6.5 Cultural values ...... 184 6.6 Developing the Cultural Values Model ...... 185 6.6.1 The fundamental components of the model ...... 187 6.6.2 Representing landscape dynamics ...... 189 6.6.3 Representing the temporal dimension ...... 190 6.6.4 Representing cleaving ...... 192 6.7 Conclusion ...... 193

CHAPTER 7: DEVELOPING AN APPLIED MODEL: THE DIMENSIONAL LANDSCAPE MODEL 7.1 Introduction ...... 195 7.2 The nature of models ...... 197 7.3 Dimensional models of landscape ...... 200 7.3.1 Static models ...... 200 7.3.2 Dynamic models ...... 206 7.3.3 Temporal models ...... 207 7.3.4 Discussion ...... 212 7.4 Developing the Dimensional Landscape Model ...... 213 7.4.1 Nodes ...... 214 7.4.2 Networks ...... 216 7.4.3 Spaces ...... 217 7.4.4 Webs ...... 218 7.4.5 Layers ...... 219 7.4.6 Discussion ...... 221 7.5 Conclusion ...... 223

PART III: TESTING THE MODELS

CHAPTER 8: APPLYING THE MODELS: AKAROA CASE STUDY 8.1 Introduction ...... 225 8.2 The study context ...... 226 8.2.1 Geological history ...... 228 8.2.2 Māori settlement ...... 230 8.2.3 Early interactions between Māori and Europeans ...... 238

vi 8.2.4 European settlement ...... 242 8.2.5 The landscape since 1900 ...... 248 8.3 Other studies relating to the Akaroa Basin landscape ...... 251 8.3.1 The planning context ...... 255 8.4 Case study methodology ...... 256 8.5 Overview of interview findings ...... 260 8.5.1 Interviewee associations with the Akaroa landscape ...... 260 8.5.2 Interview responses ...... 261 8.6 Application of the Cultural Values Model ...... 265 8.6.1 Forms ...... 265 8.6.2 Relationships ...... 268 8.6.3 Practices ...... 273 8.6.4 Dynamism ...... 275 8.6.5 Temporality ...... 277 8.6.6 Concerns about change ...... 283 8.6.7 Summary of values expressed by interviewees ...... 284 8.6.8 Values expressed in disciplinary studies ...... 288 8.7 Application of the Dimensional Landscape Model ...... 292 8.7.1 Layers and webs of the embedded landscape ...... 293 8.7.2 The surface landscape ...... 300 8.7.3 Dimensions of the composite landscape ...... 302 8.7.4 Findings from the dimensional analysis ...... 310 8.8 Conclusions ...... 313

PART IV: DRAWING CONCLUSIONS

CHAPTER 9: DISCUSSION 9.1 Introduction ...... 317 9.2 Cultural values in landscapes ...... 317 9.2.1 Ways of understanding values ...... 321 9.2.2 The nature of landscape ...... 323 9.3 The landscape framework ...... 325 9.3.1 The Cultural Values Model ...... 325 9.3.2 The Dimensional Landscape Model ...... 327 9.3.3 A framework for understanding ...... 328 9.4 Relevance to planning theory ...... 330 9.4.1 Contribution to planning theory ...... 330 9.4.2 Relationships to theoretical literature ...... 332 9.5 Relevance to planning practice ...... 334 9.5.1 Using the landscape framework ...... 336 9.5.2 Principles for the identification and management of cultural values in landscape ...... 343 9.6 Relevance for other disciplines ...... 347 9.7 Relevance for inter-disciplinary work ...... 348 9.8 Relevance to theories on the nature of space and time ...... 351 9.9 Validity ...... 352 9.9.1 Triangulation ...... 352 9.9.2 Research objectives ...... 353

vii 9.9.3 Validity as theory ...... 354 9.10 Conclusion ...... 355

CHAPTER 10: CONCLUDING COMMENTS 10.1 The research process ...... 357 10.2 Relevance to planning ...... 359 10.3 Relevance to other disciplines ...... 360 10.4 Relevance to insider values ...... 361 10.5 Further research ...... 361 10.6 Conclusion ...... 364

SOURCES CONSULTED ...... 365

PERSONAL COMMUNICATIONS ...... 395

APPENDICES Appendix 1: Notes from Bannockburn Interviews Appendix 2: Relevant published papers Appendix 3: Notes from Akaroa interviews

viii LIST OF TABLES

Table 1: Summary of culturally valued aspects of the Bannockburn landscape ...... 136 Table 2: Aspects of landscape of interest to disciplines and indigenous groups ...... 164 Table 3: Summary of culturally valued aspects of the Bannockburn landscape (Table 1 repeated) ...... 165 Table 4: Summary of landscape models ...... 181 Table 5: Comparison of disciplinary and ‘insider’ interests in landscape ...... 186 Table 6: The three fundamental components of landscape value ...... 187 Table 7: Conveying the values of the landscape as a whole through landscape dimensions ...... 222 Table 8: Comparison of insider values in Akaroa and Bannockburn landscapes ...... 263 Table 9: Some values associated with key Akaroa landscape features ...... 275 Table 10: Some surface and embedded values in the Akaroa landscape ...... 278 Table 11: Key eras giving rise to embedded values ...... 280 Table 12: Length of association compared to key eras ...... 282

ix LIST OF FIGURES

Figure 1: The research design ...... 80 Figure 2: Location of the Bannockburn and Akaroa case studies ...... 84 Figure 3: The contribution of the six research components to the steps of theory-building ...... 90 Figure 4: Location of the Bannockburn study area ...... 104 Figure 5: Looking north-east from Bannockburn sluicings along the Cromwell Basin ...... 105 Figure 6: The Bannockburn study area in 2003 ...... 106 Figure 7: The Young Australian water wheel and gold mine, Carrick Range .....108 Figure 8: Stone woolshed, Kawarau Station ...... 110 Figure 9: Sluicing, Hancock & Lawrence’s Claim, Bannockburn ...... 112 Figure 10: House and sheds clad in corrugated iron ...... 114 Figure 11: Recently established vineyards,with sluicings at rear ...... 116 Figure 12: Part of Bannockburn settlement, showing historic Bannockburn store 118 Figure 13: A representation of the disciplines interested in landscape ...... 153 Figure 14: A representation of the main facets of landscape of interest to disciplines ...... 154 Figure 15: The holistic landscape of insiders, compared to the sectoral interests of disciplines ...... 166 Figure 16: Cultural Values Model (early form) – showing the three fundamental components of forms, relationships and practices ...... 188 Figure 17: Cultural Values Model – showing the dynamic interaction of forms, relationships and practices ...... 189 Figure 18: Cultural Values Model – showing the temporal dimension ...... 190 Figure 19: Cultural Values Model – continuities and discontinuities ...... 191 Figure 20: Using the Cultural Values Model to portray how landscape values can be cleaved ...... 192 Figure 21: A continuum of landscape models ...... 199 Figure 22: Nodes in the landscape ...... 215 Figure 23: Networks in the landscape ...... 216 Figure 24: Spaces in the landscape ...... 217 Figure 25: Webs in the landscape ...... 218 Figure 26: Patterns as embedded webs ...... 219 Figure 27: Using layers to convey temporality in the landscape...... 220 Figure 28: Using networks to convey temporality in the landscape ...... 220 Figure 29: The Akaroa study area ...... 227 Figure 30: Looking south-east across the upper Akaroa harbour...... 229 Figure 31: Volcanic feature near Oteauheke / Brasenose ...... 230 Figure 32: Recorded archaeological sites in the Akaroa study area ...... 232 Figure 33: Tuhiraki (Mt Bossu) – the stump of Te Rakaihautu’s kō ...... 234 Figure 34: O Te Patatu (Purple Peak) at sunset ...... 235 Figure 35: Some traditional Māori names of locations in the Akaroa study area ..237 Figure 36: Takapuneke, the location of Te Rauparaha’s first massacre in 1830 ...240 Figure 37: Onawe Peninsula, location of Te Rauparaha’s second massacre in 1832 ...... 241 Figure 38: Britomart memorial, Greens Point ...... 244 Figure 39: French Farm ...... 245

x Figure 40: Some place names relating to early European occupation ...... 246 Figure 41: Old farmhouse surrounded by shelter trees ...... 248 Figure 42: The settlement of Akaroa ...... 249 Figure 43: Onuku marae and church ...... 250 Figure 44: A view out to sea through the Akaroa harbour heads ...... 254 Figure 45: The photograph used during the interviews ...... 258 Figure 46: Using the Cultural Values Model to portray surface and embedded values ...... 287 Figure 47: Using the Cultural Values Model to portray cleaving of landscape between different studies ...... 290 Figure 48: Some facets of the landscape web prior to European settlement ...... 294 Figure 49: Some facets of the 1820s-1840s web ...... 297 Figure 50: Some key values expressed relating to the surface landscape ...... 301 Figure 51: Some key spatial values (both surface and embedded values) of the composite landscape ...... 303 Figure 52: Some key networks (both surface and embedded values) of the composite landscape ...... 305 Figure 53: Key nodes in the Akaroa landscape ...... 307 Figure 54: An indication of some of the composite values of the dimensions of the Akaroa landscape ...... 309

xi GLOSSARY OF MĀORI TERMS

Unless otherwise referenced, definitions are sourced from Ryan (1997) atua god bouakai southern dialect for an extinct eagle1 hapū sub-tribe hui meeting, gathering iwi tribe, people Kai Tahu southern dialect for the main tribal group in the South Island kāinga / kāik home, village (kāik is southern dialect) kaitiaki caretaker, guardian kaitiakitanga the exercise of guardianship by the tangata whenua of an area in accordance with tikanga Māori in relation to natural and physical resources; and includes the ethic of stewardship2 kō digging stick kōrero speak, narrative maero mythical monster mahinga kai cultivation, food source manawhenua trusteeship of land marae meeting place of whānau or iwi, usually incorporating a group of buildings mauri life principle mihi formal greeting moa extinct bird Dinornis gigantea Ngai Tahu the main tribal group in the South Island pā stockaded village papatūānuku Mother earth patupaiarehe fairy, nymph pounamu greenstone rangatira chief rohe territory rūnanga assembly, council tangata whenua local people (literally, people of the land) taniwha water monster taonga / taoka treasure (taoka is southern dialect) tapu sacred, forbidden tikanga / tikaka meaning, custom (tikaka is southern dialect) ti-kauru processed heart of cabbage tree tupuna ancestor upoko ariki head chief urupā cemetery wāhi tapu sacred place, cemetery whakapapa genealogy, cultural identity whakataukī proverb, motto whānau extended family

1 Huata Holmes, pers. comm. 2 From section 2 of the Resource Management Act 1991

xii PART I: SETTING THE SCENE CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 1

LANDSCAPES AND THEIR VALUES

1.1 Introduction

It is difficult to think of any landscape on Earth that does not have significance to people. Most areas of land have had lengthy periods of occupation, use or engagement by people, or have at least been extensively explored. Regardless of whether a landscape is overwhelmingly natural (such as a mountain), or highly modified by humans (such as a town centre) it is likely to be imbued with cultural values. A natural landscape may be valued for its beauty, its biodiversity, the art it has generated, or its associations with ancestral figures; a rural landscape may carry the signs of different forms of agriculture, historic battlefields, or relict settlements; an urban landscape may still display a settlement pattern created a hundred or a thousand years earlier; and all may be associated with specific stories, histories and myths.

Landscapes are created by people through their interaction with the environment around them (Bender 1993). They encompass that which can be seen visually - landforms, natural habitats and physical structures - but are also a repository of memory and meaning built up over time. As the locus of historical events, landscapes convey information and stories of the past through to the present. They are defined both by their physical characteristics and by human-attributed significance. The physical and the perceptual aspects of landscape are indivisible, a duality that is evocatively described by Schama (1996) as being “built up as much from strata of memory as from layers of rock” (p6).

1 PART I: SETTING THE SCENE CHAPTER 1

Visual appearance, histories, happenings, myths and the physical layers of the past can create landscapes which are rich in meaning. They can be sources of scientific information, yielding data to ecologists about natural systems, or to archaeologists about how people interacted with the environment in the past. They can be open-air museums, showing for example the distinctive layout of a nineteenth century Canadian Mennonite village (Klippenstein 1997); showing the beginnings of the industrial revolution at Ironbridge, UK (Clark 1987), or conveying the stories of a colonial military campaign in New Zealand (Prickett 2002). They can be places of artistic inspiration, repeatedly painted, photographed and poetised, such as Uluru (Ayer’s Rock) in Australia, or the Grand Canyon in USA.

Landscapes can be fundamental to personal or cultural identity. Māori, for example, view the landscape as a tupuna (ancestor) from which tribal genealogy springs (Russell 2000); in Aboriginal creation stories, ancestral spirits became special features within the landscape (Bancroft 2002); and the varied rural historic landscapes of Britain are part of vernacular identity (Fowler 2000). Even humble landscapes can be steeped in cultural values. A field tranquilly grazed by cows may be marked with “generations of alliances, conflicts, human tragedies and blood” (Tapsell 2002:272). An urban landscape can be a storehouse of the collective memories of families, workers and ethnic communities, where streets, buildings, patterns of settlement and natural features have framed the lives of many people and outlasted many lifetimes (Hayden 1995).

When new development threatens a valued landscape – a scenic valley, a sacred mountain, or an historic settlement – it is thus not just the physical landscape that is being affected, but also the collective meanings, memories, and identities that the landscape holds – its cultural values. Humans have always modified their local environments, but change that was once incremental and localised is now rapid and extensive, arising from new technologies, growing investment power, and the forces of globalisation. Changes to familiar surroundings are compounded by new homogenous forms of development. The results at a local landscape level include losses of cultural diversity, cultural identity, and, underlying this, people’s ‘sense of place’ – the “lenses through which they construct the environment” (Nazarea 1999:105). The widespread

2 PART I: SETTING THE SCENE CHAPTER 1

and rapid changes to landscapes that typify modern development therefore place cultural values under continual threat.

In most jurisdictions, the nature and location of new development is mediated by the planning process, which has a significant influence on where and how development occurs. The planning discipline has developed highly sophisticated approaches to assessing the physical constraints to development but its approaches to determining cultural significance are relatively primitive and fragmented.

In this thesis, I examine the failure of the planning discipline to adequately account for cultural values in landscapes, and propose that the problem must be addressed at both the conceptual and applied levels. Through case studies and inter-disciplinary research, I develop and test two models for improving the understanding of localised cultural values in landscapes. Although the case studies were undertaken in New Zealand, the thrust of the research is to develop models with more universal relevance.

1.2 The problem

Expressions of the problem are most commonly found outside of the planning discipline, in both academic and non-academic literature. Communities, indigenous groups, environmental lobbyists, heritage conservation organisations, and numerous authors consistently decry how landscapes and places have lost or are losing their value and significance. This unease relates both to distinctive landscapes, such as traditional cultural landscapes (Antrop 2005) and to ordinary, everyday landscapes (Council of Europe 2000). There are a number of interrelated dimensions to the concern.

A common theme is the effects of change on landscape values. Antrop (2005), for example, notes that superimposed new landscapes can obliterate locally distinctive characteristics and culturally significant meanings, creating a break with the continuity of the past. Brown (2003) is particularly concerned with the loss of aesthetic and natural values through landscape fragmentation associated with subdivision and development. Relph (1976) notes the effects of such changes on people and

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communities, suggesting that they are left in a state of rootlessness, lacking not only distinct culture and traditions but also a distinctive landscape of locality.

The problem is also described as a lack of appropriate tools to identify the many values associated with landscapes. At an applied level in New Zealand, an analysis of peri- urban development in valued landscapes has found that management effectiveness has been compromised by, amongst other things, the limited capacity in the planning process to identify significant values and to manage divergent views (Parliamentary Commissioner for the Environment 2001). Swaffield (1991) suggests that effective decision-making is inhibited by ambiguity about landscape concepts and a lack of clarity on how to deal with multiple meanings. Even where landscape assessments are undertaken, they predominantly focus on preferences for aesthetic and natural values, with little work carried out to date on understanding cultural and heritage values (Peart 2004).

International instruments also reflect the need for better landscape assessment and management mechanisms. The European Landscape Convention 2000, for example, acknowledges that all landscapes have an important role in cultural, ecological, environmental and social fields, contribute to the formation of local cultures, and help generate human well-being and identity. The Convention notes the need to develop multi-disciplinary approaches to landscape policy, protection, management and planning (Council of Europe 2000). The US ICOMOS Declaration on Heritage Landscapes focuses on highly significant landscapes, but similarly identifies the need to pursue an inter-disciplinary approach combining both natural and cultural heritage professionals, and calls for the development of a holistic model of landscape (ICOMOS USA 2004).

Landscape, by its very nature, is of interest to many very different disciplines. Inter- disciplinary cooperation on landscapes, however, is hindered by the incompatibility of landscape-related theory and methodology. This has been noted from within many disciplines, including geography (Tress and Tress 2001, Jones 1991), archaeology (McGlade 1999, Anschuetz, Wilshusen, and Scheick 2001), landscape ecology

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(Dramstad et al. 2001), landscape architecture (Spirn 1998) and heritage (Ramsay and Paraskevopoulos 1994). While some researchers have attempted a ‘technical fix’ by mapping landscape information using sophisticated software such as Geographical Information Systems (e.g. Allen, Green, and Zubrow 1990), McGlade (1999) describes the problem as conceptual rather than methodological.

Concern is also expressed about the lack of inclusion of localised values when decisions are made about landscapes. Some landscapes are of wide aesthetic appeal, but local landscapes also hold special meaning for those communities and culture groups that have particular associations. The need to engage with communities in defining values and in landscape management has been voiced from a number of disciplinary bases. Dakin (2003), for example, found that participatory and inclusive methods reveal a richness of landscape experience, and argues that this needs to be incorporated in landscape assessment and management. Examining how community identities are anchored in the tangible environment, Stewart, Liebert, and Larkin (2004) conclude that participants only support landscape change when it enhances the meanings inherent in the local landscape. At a more theoretical level, Hayden (1995) suggests that disciplines involved in landscape research need to develop a more coherent way of conceptualising community-based information and values.

Underlying all of these issues is a widespread unease about the lack of a shared understanding of the nature of landscape, and the concomitant need for a “clarifying theoretical discussion” on different ways of understanding landscape’s reality (Jones 1991:230). The lack of an accepted overarching model for a holistic understanding of landscapes is not necessarily a problem for specific disciplines, each of which can still work adequately within its own disciplinary boundaries (although this too is questioned, e.g. Anschuetz, Wilshusen, and Scheick 2001, McGlade 1999). It is a problem, however, for those for whom the particular landscape has ‘power of place’ (Hayden 1995), and to those who wish to carry out landscape studies with other disciplines. Terkenli (2001) expresses the problem succinctly: …the fact that no integrated, comprehensive theoretical and analytical frameworks have been thus far formulated that adequately address landscape study, assessment and planning has been, in many regards, debilitating. (p198)

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The need to better understand the values of localities has been identified by a number of authors, but a seminal contribution (and one that is drawn on at a number of points through the thesis) has been made by geographer Edward Relph. Working in the 1970s, Relph, along a handful of other writers such as F. Lukerman and Yi-fu Tuan, began to explore concepts of place from a phenomenological perspective. In Place and Placelessness (1976) Relph expresses his interest in place values thus: …distinctive and diverse places are manifestations of a deeply felt involvement with those places by the people who live in them, and that for many such a profound attachment to place is as necessary and significant as a close relationship with other people. It is therefore disturbing that so much planning and remaking of landscapes proceeds apparently in ignorance of the importance of place, even though the protests of the expropriated and uprooted demonstrate this very importance (preface).

Although it was written three decades ago, Relph’s concerns remain relevant today. As I will argue in Chapter 2, the recognition of localised values and attachments to place is still largely marginal to planning theory and practice.

1.3 The role of planning in landscape management

A primary function of planning is to direct or control society’s spatial arrangements. Decisions about changes to landscapes are thus generally mediated through the planning system. If a landscape’s significance is not taken into account by planners, or if it is only partially recognised, then its values are likely to be at the mercy of market forces. These require that spaces are rational and useful, that places have predictable value in monetary terms, and that property interests are restricted to those of the owner. In this rational world-view, sedimented human meanings are largely irrelevant: …the landscape becomes a surface or volume like any other, open for exploitation and everywhere homogenous in its potential exchange value for any particular project. It becomes desanctified, set apart from people, myth and history, something to be controlled and used (Tilley 1994:21).

Planning operates in the uncomfortable interstice between the rationality of market forces and the subjectivity of society’s values and needs. It is not surprising, then, that planners are regularly faced with anguished stakeholders when changes are proposed to valued landscapes. Sandercock (1998) captures this issue:

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… spaces are also places, and places have histories. And people are usually attached to places precisely because of these histories. One very powerful critique of planning practice that has emerged from citizens in recent decades is the argument that planners are ignorant about, or show little respect for, local histories and local attachments. And historic preservation planning itself has come under attack for choosing only certain histories as worthy of preserving. (p33)

The decisions or recommendations of planners can be critical to the relationship between people and the landscapes they are attached to. As Anschuetz, Wilshusen, and Scheick (2001) suggest, understanding the relationship between people and the spaces that they occupy is thus fundamental to the appropriate management of landscapes.

Planning includes processes of information-gathering, evaluation, synthesis and decision-making for the purpose of generating policies and plans, and making decisions or recommendations about development. Using whatever sources of information are considered reasonable in the circumstance, the planner’s task is not only to consider the physical implications of a development, but also to seek to understand the nature and significance of any impact on socio-cultural values. The planner must then synthesise and assess these different forms of information and values within certain predetermined national and/or local criteria in order to make ‘rational’ decisions or recommendations. While planners generate some primary data, such as through community consultation or surveys, they rely to a large extent on ‘experts’ in a variety of fields to generate specialist information. This is particularly significant for landscapes, in that planners rely largely on assessments of significance by other disciplines, such as landscape architects, ecologists and/or heritage specialists.

Considering multiple forms of information about landscape values is far from straightforward, and a number of challenges arise. One challenge is that the nature of information about values is likely to differ greatly according to the informant. Many disciplines have an interest in aspects of landscapes, and each contributes its own view of significance. Associated communities, including people living in the place, visitors, and those who have cultural associations, also hold place-specific cultural values. Specialist disciplinary reports are likely to have varied ways of attributing value and linking it to the landscape, largely shaped by the paradigms and assumptions of the

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experts that write them. Community views are likely to be less focused, and may refer to a wide variety of intangible values in the landscape such as a sense of identity; historic and genealogical links; aesthetic, spiritual or cultural values; a desire for continuity of traditional activities or recreational access; or the ‘sense of place’. These values are unlikely to be expressed in the formal language of a professional report and may therefore be difficult for planners to understand, particularly where a different cultural world-view is expressed. There may also be many different (and sometimes conflicting) views on what is valued and why. For example, landscape architects, archaeologists and indigenous people may respectively identify visual, scientific and spiritual values in relation to a single place, with very different ways of expressing these values. Planners then have the difficult task of trying to make sense of widely disparate forms of information about the same place, and often the same features.

A related problem is that where information is provided as discrete elements of unrelated ‘data’, and not systematically synthesised, there is little chance that decision- makers will understand the deep and often complex relationships between people and their environment. As a result, it is easier for policy and management decisions to focus on parts of the whole (e.g. a historic building) and much harder to deal with the fact that values may well be intangible and/or spatially significant (e.g. an entire valley may be of spiritual significance). Multiple or conflicting values over the same landscape are even harder to reconcile.

A further challenge is how to draw together fragmented and often unrelated information from a variety of sources, so as to make informed and reliable decisions. There is little guidance as to how to consider the multiplicity of landscape values in a holistic way. No single discipline offers an overarching approach to recognising the full range of human values in the landscape. Some inter-disciplinary work on landscapes occurs, and, as already noted, in recent years there has been discussion within and between disciplines as to the need for a common theoretical or methodological approach to understanding landscapes (e.g. McGlade 1999, Crumley and Marquardt 1990, Tress and Tress 2001, Terkenli 2001). Yet despite their key role as controllers of spatial development, planners so far seem to have been relatively silent in this debate.

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The planning process also faces decisions about the legitimacy of information, especially where different groups or specialists have different narratives about the same place. In the normal course of events this does not matter, but when significant change is proposed to a valued landscape, the decision-maker may have to make a call as to whose values are given the greatest weight. For example, should formally expressed ‘scientific’ knowledge be given greater credibility by decision-makers than ‘informal’ knowledge such as orally expressed traditional knowledge? Should physically based data be given more weight than the perceptions of the affected communities? If not, how can a balance or equivalence between forms of knowledge be achieved?

Decisions also need to be made about relative significance of parts of the landscape. Although a landscape is a whole entity, some parts are likely to be more significant than others, and less suited to radical change. Other parts which are less significant may be able to absorb change. It is thus essential for the decision-maker to find out which aspects of the landscape are particularly valued, and why. It is not enough just to gather information about cultural values – the information must be able to be linked back to the relevant aspects of the physical landscape.

Underlying all of these challenges is the need for a conceptual framework which offers a common basis for expressing ideas about landscape – a way of describing and understanding landscapes which provides common ground for the various disciplines, for those connected with the landscape, and for those making management decisions about the landscape. Ways of describing landscape values certainly exist within many indigenous societies, and also within some academic frameworks (e.g. archaeology, landscape architecture) but these are limited to a particular world view or the functions of that discipline. As yet, there is no effective unifying approach which enables the range of information and values to be seen as an interlinked whole. Of particular concern is that the planning discipline offers no integrated framework for considering landscape in both its perceptual and physical aspects. The lack of such a framework means that it is difficult to gain a holistic understanding of cultural significance, and difficult to give appropriate voice to intangible and subjective values.

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Planning’s operational location at the interface between public and private realms adds further tension to the management of cultural values in landscapes. The focus of much planning practice is the use of administration and control techniques to address failings or limitations of the perfect market model, such as negative externalities of land use, inefficiencies of high transaction costs, or (most relevantly here) the provision or protection of ‘public goods’ (Beatley 1994). Working to promote the public good involves giving recognition to public (collective) needs and desires, which at times will require giving them prominence over individual expectations. Planning techniques may thus hinder or impact on the workings of the free market and the development rights that might be considered to be inherent in owning property.

The recognition of public interests in property that may be in private ownership has gained prominence in planning practice over time. An early ‘planning’ function was the control of discharges from the use of privately owned land, but more latterly planning approaches have expanded to recognise the value of such things as sunlight, vegetation (individual trees or habitats), aesthetically pleasing places, historic buildings and monuments, and visual amenity. In some contexts (e.g. New Zealand, Australia), cultural associations with land are also given some formal recognition. Depending on the planning/land management jurisdiction, then, the use of private land can be controlled to a greater or lesser extent in order to protect values that are considered to be of interest to the public generally. As a result, tensions commonly exist in many jurisdictions between the recognition of public versus private rights (Beatley 1994).

When considering cultural values at a landscape scale, planning becomes somewhat more complex due to the potential extent of what is to be managed. If valued aspects of landscape are extensive, and strict controls are required on how land is developed or subdivided, it could be argued that property rights could become so restricted as to render the land unusable. For planners, however, arguments against planning controls are relevant only insofar as the particular policy and legal framework draws the boundaries between private and public interests. If the framework provides for the protection of landscape-scale values, for example, then the role of the planner is to do

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just that. This is likely to involve adequately recognising those values that the framework allows for, and working with all parties to achieve a suitable bundle of measures that allow, as far as possible, for both public and private interests to co-exist. There is no simple answer to the tension between public and private rights – it is a matter largely determined by the specific jurisdiction and, within this, through the workings of the planning process itself.

In the context of the research problem, this issue of private versus public rights has relatively little significance. At issue is not the vexed question of ‘whose values should come first?’ but, rather, the question that precedes this, which could be framed as ‘what values exist in this landscape?’. The position taken here is that better quality information is essential for better quality decision-making: it is only once the range and totality of values is recognised that the interested parties (public, cultural groups, owners, authorities, planners) will be in a sufficiently informed position to start to discuss whose values might be more important, and how the landscape might be managed to conserve those values. The private/public tension, while it is an issue of interest to planners, is not of central concern here.

In conclusion, planners manipulate space and synthesise information about space. Their policies, plans and management decisions impact directly on landscape values. In this light, they are well placed to be at the forefront of developing an integrated approach to understanding landscapes. In the absence of any overarching landscape framework, planners currently grapple with these challenges in a piecemeal fashion, using fragmented assessment methodologies and largely unsupported by planning theory.

1.4 The research question

Together, these challenges give rise to the core research question which is addressed by this thesis: How can formal and informal ‘knowledge’ about cultural values in the landscape be better understood and linked to the landscape in an integrated way, so as to assist in robust decision-making?

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Accordingly, I seek to develop a conceptual framework which can, in some measure, address this core question. The conceptual framework aims not only to be useful for planners but also for other landscape-related disciplines and others that have an interest in landscapes. The following broad objectives for the framework are thus proposed: 1. To be able to represent the range of cultural values expressed about the landscape 2. To offer an integrated approach to understanding cultural values 3. To assist in linking values to landscape elements 4. To assist in informing landscape management decisions By incorporating these objectives, it is intended that the framework will provide a common point of reference for the variety of disciplines and cultures which have an interest in cultural values in the landscape.

1.5 The meaning of “landscape” and “cultural values”

Before moving on to discuss the structure of the thesis, it is necessary to briefly review the key terms which will be used throughout the thesis. This is particularly important as ‘landscape’, ‘culture’ and ‘values’ are amongst the more slippery and emotive words in the English language. None of them bear simple definition, and the two former at least are words ‘on the move’ – that is, their meanings have changed, and are continuing to change, as a result of new ways of seeing and thinking about the world.

1.5.1 Landscape

The Oxford Dictionary definition of ‘landscape’ is “a picture representing natural inland scenery…”; “a view or prospect of natural inland scenery, such as can be taken in at a glance from one point of view…”; and includes a view or prospect, a vista, the object of one’s gaze, a compendium, a bird’s eye view, and the depiction or description of something in words (Simpson and Weiner 1989). The dictionary definition of landscape, however, does not do justice to its multi-faceted nature nor with the range of concepts associated with the word.

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The components of the word - ‘land’ and ‘scape’ - were introduced into Britain sometime after the 5th century AD, by Germanic speakers. ‘Land’, as far back as it can be traced, meant a space with boundaries although not necessarily bounded by fences or walls, but always implying a space defined by people (Jackson 1984). ‘Scape’ meant essentially the same as shape except that, in addition, several Old English compound words used scape or its derivatives to indicate collective aspects of the environment. Examples included ‘housescape’, meaning the organisation of people in the house, and ‘township’ which once meant a collection of ‘tuns’ or farmsteads. Jackson suggests that ‘landscape’ could well have meant something like an organisation, a system of rural farm spaces: At all events it is clear that a thousand years ago the word had nothing to do with scenery or the depiction of scenery. (p7)

The use of the word in English today, however, arises from the 16th century importation of the Dutch word ‘landskip’. In its Dutch and German roots, ‘landskip’ first signified a jurisdictional land unit (Schama 1996), but by the time it was imported into English it was a technical term used by painters, meaning a pictorial representation of a real or imaginary view (Hirsch 1995). Its representational sense had been influenced by the philosophical division of nature and culture during the Enlightenment, which resulted in the objectification and commodification of land. The idea of landscape as scenery was generated by the conceptual removal of humans from the natural world, so that land was now something to be ‘looked over’ and represented in maps and images (Bender 2002, Bourassa 1991, Tilley 1994). Its artistic meaning became transferred to the visually perceived world by the first generation of Picturesque tourists during the 18th and early 19th centuries (Hirsch 1995, Andrews 1989). The spread of artistic concepts, such as the sublime, the beautiful and the picturesque, meant the physical world became of cultural interest as a source of the aesthetic (Swaffield and Foster 2000).What came to be called ‘landscape’ was seen as such because it reminded the viewer of a painted representation. This sense of landscape as picture-like scenery has carried through to the present day. The earlier meaning of landscape as a region or a jurisdiction - a politicised meaning closer to the idea of country – has suffered attrition but today is still a parallel dimension of the word (Olwig 2002, Schama 1996).

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A further sense of ‘landscape’ is as a verb, originally meaning the beautifying or redevelopment of a piece of ground so that it resembles an idealised landscape (Jackson 1984). From the 18th century onwards the works of early ‘landscapers’ such as Capability Brown attempted to give physical expression to the principles of the painterly landscape (Dakin 2003). Developed formally during the 19th century, the practice of ‘landscaping’ later adopted design principles such as unity, repetition, sequence and balance, of harmony and contrast (McHenry 1993), and became the basis of the discipline of landscape architecture.

In the past fifty years the word’s meaning has developed further. Landscaping has moved into new areas of ecology, design and psychology, while landscape painting has evolved to become non-representational. Additionally, ‘landscape’ has been adopted in a variety of other contexts as both a metaphor and to represent meaning in the environment. As the former, it is used in senses such as the ‘landscape of poet’s images’, the ‘landscape of dreams’, ‘the landscape of thought’, or on quite a different level, the ‘political landscape’. Jackson (1984) suggests such adoptions have resulted because of the need for a word to indicate a setting for a thought, event or relationship.

However it is landscape’s evolution to encompass human meanings in the environment that is of most interest. As will be discussed in more detail in later chapters, ‘landscape’ has been adopted by a wide variety of disciplines, and is used variously by them, as well as by communities and ethnic groups, to encompass a much broader interpretation than is implied by its dictionary definition. Depending on the context, ‘landscape’ is used to include the material and non-material aspects of a physical area, its human and natural aspects, and its mythological and cognitive aspects. ‘Landscape’ has become associated with concepts such as naturalness, functional integration, and national and regional identity, as well as its more traditional association with picturesque improvement (Swaffield 1991). It has become a key concept in international attempts to protect areas that have significant ecological and/or heritage value, particularly in relation to moving beyond the rationalist division between nature and culture (Beresford and Phillips 2000). Furthermore, it is increasingly used by a variety of disciplines to describe

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particular disciplinary approaches (e.g. ‘landscape ecology’, ‘landscape history’, ‘landscape archaeology’).

‘Landscape’ and associated concepts are also being used by indigenous cultures to convey the meanings of their surroundings. In New Zealand, a Māori researcher, working from an ‘insider’ perspective, found that within the Ngai Tahu1 tribe (based in the South Island) the majority of interviewees used ‘landscape’ to describe a totality of meaning relating to their ancestral lands including genealogical connections, placenames, identity, spirituality and sustenance (Russell 2000). Australian Aboriginals have adopted the word ‘country’ in a similar way to capture “the landscape, the sea, and even the sky… the animate and the inanimate, and the interdependence of all life. Speaking of ‘country’ implies a spiritual attachment to traditional land …” (Sinatra and Murphy 1999:30).

A useful synopsis of the complex use of ‘landscape’ today is offered by geographers and landscape researchers Bärbel and Gunther Tress (2001). They offer five ‘dimensions’ of the landscape concept, each of which relates to a different historical conception of the word: • Landscape as a spatial entity; its physical-material dimension. • Landscape as a mental entity; the landscape as perceived by people through their minds and senses, embedded in their social and cultural context. • Landscape as a temporal dimension; something which is not static but rather subject to ongoing change. • Landscape as a nexus of nature and culture; a place where nature and culture are complementary and overlapping. • Landscape as a complex system involving physical, biological and mental components.

The dictionary definition of landscape implies the perspective of the detached outsider (Bourassa 1991), and incorporates the concepts of both scenery and domain (Tuan

1 ‘Ngai Tahu’ and ‘Kai Tahu’ are both used by Māori to refer to the main tribe in the South Island. ‘Kai Tahu’ is the southern dialect version of ‘Ngai Tahu’.

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1978). But, as noted by (Swaffield 1991), the meaning of landscape is far from static: it is “dynamic, adaptive to new needs, and strongly influenced by the particular context and circumstances of use” (p191). Possibly as a result of its “useful” (Ucko and Layton 1999:1) and “attractive” (Meinig 1979:1) ambiguity, recent evolutions in meaning have stretched the concept of landscape to cover a far wider range of spatial, perceptual and temporal applications than suggested by its formal definition.

1.5.2 ‘Culture’

Like ‘landscape’, the concept of ‘culture’ is a contested word which is not easily defined, even within a single discipline (Jackson 1989). It has been called “exceptionally complex” (Williams 1981:10) and “one of the most complex words in the English language” (Stratford 1999:1). Like landscape, its meaning has changed significantly over the twentieth century.

In an earlier era, ‘culture’ meant the ideal social form sought by advancing societies on a universal scale of progress. In the 1950s, Kroeber and Kluckhohn (1952) reviewed 164 definitions of culture, and determined that its essential core consisted of traditional ideas and their attached values, and patterns of behaviour acquired and transmitted by symbols. Since the mid-twentieth century, the word has evolved further, shaking older explanatory models of culture as essentially an independent force governing human beings. Postmodernism, feminism, and the proliferation of cultural identities have reinterpreted ‘culture’, to include the sense of multiple cultures. Emphasis also changed from seeing culture as patterns of behaviour to examining the underlying structures of symbolic meaning and shared mental representations.

Thrift and Whatmore (2004) suggest that ‘culture’ is used today in three main (but overlapping) expressions – in an anthropological sense as the whole way of life of a people; as a functional means of ascribing identity to a group; and to refer to particular social processes (p7-8). Current interpretations propose that culture is as a dynamic process whereby people are actively engaged in constructing group life and its products (Anderson and Gale 1992, Johnston et al. 2000). People are considered to live culturally

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rather than in cultures, with the generative source of culture being human practices rather than in representations of the world (Ingold 1994). It is in these contemporary inclusive senses that ‘culture’ is used here.

1.5.3 ‘Values’

Like ‘landscape’ and ‘culture’, the concept of ‘value’ is also slippery. In earlier periods, the concept of value was used in a comparative sense to differentiate between good and bad (Pepper 1958). Values were fundamentally intrinsic, unchanging and universal and were represented in morals, principles and other ideas that served as guides to individual or collective action (Mason 2002). Under the influence of postmodernism, values are now considered to be a social construction (Avrami, Mason, and de la Torre 2000), created out of the cultural contexts of a time and place. Values do not speak for themselves – they can only be identified when they are expressed by those who are part of the cultural context or are in a position to observe and understand it (Bluestone 2000).

Where the term ‘value’ is used in this latter sense, it is contingent upon there being a person, discipline or group for which the thing has value, and it generally refers to qualities and characteristics that have some worth, importance or usefulness to the evaluator (Mason 2002). At times, though, value may also be given where negative connotations make a place culturally significant (such as the site of a massacre) (Seddon 1997). ‘Values’ is used here in the sense that all value is generated through the human mind, and signifies something that is important to a person or group.

In some contexts, ‘value’ is also used to refer to monetary value. The position taken here is that cultural value is very different to monetary value. Cultural value may well influence monetary value – for example, the aesthetic value of an area may be reflected in its dollar value – but monetary value is not in itself a cultural value of landscape. Money may be one way of measuring the value of land but cannot be considered equivalent to a landscape’s cultural values. As Ingold (1993) suggests, landscape is

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qualitative, not quantitative: “you can ask of a landscape what it is like, but not how much of it there is” (p154).

1.5.4 Positioning the Cultural Values research

The subject matter of the research undertaken for this thesis is the cultural values that are assigned by people to landscapes. Arising from the meanings imputed to ‘culture’ and ‘values’, cultural values are taken to be those values which are shared by a group or community or are given legitimacy through a socially accepted way of assigning value. By using the term ‘cultural value’, the research questions seeks to focus on those values that shared, whether that is shared within a community, a culture group or a discipline.

In recognising that there are multiple ways of valuing - cultural values shared by those within an associated group as well as those attributed by outsiders or disciplinary ‘experts’ - the approach taken to the research thus lies within the post-modern paradigm. This catholic approach to evaluation is commonly used in disciplines such as planning and heritage conservation, where there is an awareness that both community interests and specialised knowledge can contribute to a broader understanding of the subject matter. In heritage conservation, for example, (de la Torre 2002) suggests that cultural significance is the importance of a site as determined by the aggregate of values attributed to it - those attributed by experts plus those attributed by stakeholders or constituents. Similarly, planners work at least in part in synthesising the contributions of other professions, and of the results of community consultation, into proposals and actions for the future (Thompson 2000).

The research process therefore examines cultural values in landscapes as determined on the one hand by ‘insiders’ and on the other hand by those disciplines that contribute to understanding landscapes. To understand the deeply felt significance of landscapes to their constituent communities, the research necessarily needed to be founded in a philosophical approach that gave legitimacy to the goal of understanding people’s experience of exterior phenomena. Accordingly, the approach taken is based within the phenomenological tradition, which seeks to understand the world through people’s

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experience of the lived world, and to report this experience directly through careful observation and description without recourse to theory or disciplinary assumptions. Phenomenology accepts that the qualities perceived and valued are dependent on how each individual experiences the world ‘out there’, and shares that perception with others (Merleau-Ponty 1962). Methods used in this tradition “proceed from an acceptance of both the wholeness and indivisibility of human experience, and of the fact that meaning defined by human intentions is cental to all our existence” (Relph 1976).

When a researcher attempts to understand this ‘wholeness’, they are inserting themselves within a setting that is potentially quite foreign, and where the researcher’s knowledge and preconceptions, and those of the researched, are potentially at odds. The scientific method would suggest that the researcher is neutral and authoritative, regardless of the setting. That approach is rejected here: instead, the research is strongly influenced by the hermeneutic tradition. This means that there is a recognition that the research process is more akin to a conversation, whereby the researcher and the researched come together with different understandings of the world, and seek to develop some form of shared understanding.

In addition to seeking to understand human relationships with the landscapes they associate with, the research is also seeking to understand and draw from the knowledge of various disciplines. Some of these are founded in the positivist tradition (e.g. ecology), others are founded in the interpretive tradition (e.g. sociology) and yet others that draw from both traditions (e.g. geography). Information that has arisen from a different paradigm from the one taken here is explicitly not rejected: all forms of knowledge are considered to be valuable and to add to an overall understanding of the phenomena being studied. Underlying this acceptance, however, is the belief that objectivity is unattainable – that values influence all thinking and research, and all identifications of what is or is not considered significant. In drawing from disciplinary knowledge, therefore, a normative approach is taken, with all knowledge seen as relative and contributory rather than absolute.

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In both the research process and the building of models, the aim is to avoid a reductionist approach, on the basis that this is a fundamental cause of the research problem. Instead, the research approach is guided by the interpretive paradigm, which highlights the primacy of relationships over particles, and posits that whole may be more than the sum of the parts.

These approaches guide the development of the methodology and the generation of the theoretical models. Further detail as to the research design is contained in Chapter 3.

1.6 Structure of the thesis

The thesis is designed to address a problem which has been identified from within a planning framework, but in order to address the problem it necessarily draws from a variety of other disciplinary and cultural approaches to understanding landscape. Because of its iterative, inter-disciplinary and explorative approach, the research moved somewhat restlessly between theory, disciplinary approaches and case studies in order to build and test the proposed conceptual framework. Although in reality it was characterised by iterative and incremental steps, the research process is described as though it occurred more or less chronologically.

The thesis is structured in four Parts, representing the four main stages of the research – setting the scene, developing the framework, testing the models, and drawing conclusions. Each Part contains one or more chapters.

1.6.1 Part I: Setting the Scene (Chapters 1-3)

Part I contains the first three chapters: the introduction, a review of relevant planning literature and the research design. More specifically, Chapter 2 examines the nature of planning and its theories, and finds that few planning theorists have considered the nature and significance of human values in the landscape, and none in an integrated way. While much planning theory is ultimately about appropriate approaches to future spatial development, there appears to have been little theoretical consideration of

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cultural values of the existing landscape. This somewhat unexpected theoretical vacuum provided an additional challenge.

Chapter 3 outlines how the research was designed to address the key research aim: that is, the development of a framework for understanding and linking multiple cultural values in landscapes. The research process was iterative, with each stage giving rise to new insights and adjustments of the originally-envisaged process. The chapter describes the evolution of the research design and the six components of the research process.

1.6.2 Part II: Developing the framework (Chapters 4-7)

In this Part, the landscape framework is developed, which consists of two linked models: a conceptual model of the nature of cultural values (the Landscape Values Model), and an applied model of how the dimensions of cultural values can be understood in relation to the landscape (the Dimension Landscape Model). The models emerge from an examination of landscape values expressed by three groups – those of a community associated with a specific landscape, those of two indigenous cultures, and those of a range of western-based disciplines with a particular interest in landscape.

The significance of a specific landscape to the groups associated with it is examined in Chapter 4. This chapter focuses on the pilot study, which was carried out in the Bannockburn area of Central Otago, New Zealand (see Fig 2). This involved carrying out background research into the landscape context, followed by interviews with community members about what was important to them about the landscape.

Chapter 5 sets out to reveal what aspects of landscape are considered significant to disciplines as well as to two indigenous cultures. Rather than being limited by formal definitions of ‘landscape’, the approach taken is to be inclusive of the range of values expressed by all of these groups in relation to landscape. The chapter reviews the approaches taken by a wide range of disciplines with an interest in landscape, as well as looking outside of western paradigms to consider how indigenous cultures view landscape.

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Writers from a variety of disciplines have considered the problem of the current fragmented approach to landscape. In Chapter 6, these contributions are discussed, and existing integrated models of landscape are reviewed. The chapter then draws from these existing models, and from the outcomes of the two prior chapters, a proposed conceptual model of landscape values is developed – the Cultural Values Model.

While the Cultural Values Model offers a structure for considering the range of values in any given landscape, it is of little use to decision-makers unless there is also a way to describe what aspects of the physical landscape bear or represent those values. Using the Cultural Values Model as a foundation, Chapter 7 sets out to develop a second model to assist in understanding the dimensional attributes of cultural values. A further review of disciplinary and cultural approaches is undertaken, this time focusing on the range of ways in which the spatial and temporal dimensions of landscape attributes are modelled. These approaches are drawn on to generate the Dimension Landscape Model.

1.6.3 Part III : Testing the Models (Chapter 8)

Part III applies these models to a second case study at Akaroa, in the Canterbury region of New Zealand (see Fig 2). The first part of the chapter lays out the physical and historical context of the case study landscape, and summarises existing disciplinary studies of the landscape. The second part contains an analysis of the community interviews using the Cultural Values Model and Dimensional Landscape Model. The existing studies are also considered in light of the models. The chapter concludes by discussing the validity and utility of the models for offering an integrated understanding of the multiple values of the Akaroa landscape.

1.6.4 Part IV : Drawing Conclusions (Chapters 9 and 10)

Chapter 9 discusses the research findings, examining what has emerged as to the nature of cultural values in landscapes, and reviewing the usefulness of the models for offering

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an inter-disciplinary understanding of cultural values in landscape. The relevance of this framework to planning practice and planning theory is also addressed, along with a brief commentary on how it could contribute to inter-disciplinary landscape studies. Chapter 10 concludes Part IV with a consideration of the contribution of the thesis as a whole, and an indication of further research possibilities.

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CHAPTER 2

REVIEW OF PLANNING LITERATURE

2.1 Introduction

Landscape, as outlined in Chapter 1, has become a highly complex concept. Rather than being simply ‘scenery’, it is a dynamic interaction of perceptual, physical, natural, cultural, spatial and temporal components. Its value is not just that experienced by the dispassionate viewer – it is likely to have multiple forms of meaning and significance for a diverse range of groups and disciplines.

Changes to the physical environment are likely to impact on the matrix of values and space that constitutes landscape. It is at this juncture that the mediating role of planning becomes crucial. Planners work at the nexus of landscape change, designing interventions or controls to shape social, economic and environmental futures. The approaches they use for evaluation and decision-making are thus critical determinants of which landscape values are recognised, how they are accounted for, and what management actions result.

This chapter explores how planning, as a discipline with its own loosely-bounded body of theory and methodology, seeks to understand landscape and its multiple values. Given planning’s key role in landscape change, it would appear self-evident that a central thread of planning theory should be concerned with cultural values in landscapes, or, at a more general level, consideration of the meaning and significance of space. It would also seem fundamental that decisions about future actions affecting land, structures and people should be informed by knowledge of existing cultural attachments and meanings. This chapter reviews the extent to which these matters are addressed in planning literature at both a theoretical and methodological level.

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Section 2.2 examines the development of planning thought, identifying planning theories relevant to consideration of landscape values, with reference to how planning paradigms have changed over time. In Section 2.3, contemporary methodologies used to determine landscape significance are discussed. In particular, this section looks at how community participation and landscape assessments have been used to address concerns about landscape value. Section 2.4 discusses the overall contribution of planning theories and methodologies to an integrated understanding of landscape.

It should be noted that the terms ‘space’, ‘region’ and ‘environment’ are often used in planning theory. While the terms are not identical to ‘landscape’, they contain overlapping and interrelated concepts. Where one of these terms is used in planning theory or methodology in a sense that is akin to ‘landscape’, it is included in the discussion.

2.2 The development of planning thought

Planning as a discipline began in the nineteenth century, when endeavours were undertaken to improve living conditions of the slum-living poor through the rationalisation of land uses. It evolved from there to address such issues as new town and city design, regional development, transportation, economic growth, and, latterly, equity, social justice and environmental sustainability (Hall 1988). Today, functional aspects of planning include land use control, policy analysis, social learning, social reform, and urban design (Allmendinger 2002).

With such a broad focus, it is not surprising that planning today comprises an “eclectic collection of theories” (Allmendinger 2002:78). Some theories focus on the nature of the planning processes themselves (Fainstein 2000). Others focus on urban form, particularly the regulation of the “physicality, sociality and spatiality of the city” (Sandercock 1998: 36). Yet others seek to define the greater good by focusing on social and ethical inquiry, and its transformative possibilities for the quality of human life (Mandelbaum, Mazza, and Burchell 1996). But, largely, planning has no unified

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theory. Its loose collection of “indigenous theory” (Allmendinger 2002:92) is relatively unbounded, and is influenced by, and shares common ground with, other theories sourced from the sciences, social sciences, humanities and philosophy.

2.2.1 Enlightenment and rationalism

Planning was born of the same Enlightenment thinking that gave birth to the industrial revolution, although tempered by utopian ideals. The ‘enlightening’ developments in scientific thought from the eighteenth century onwards opened up new understandings and revealed new possibilities of human potential. Belief systems based on tradition and authority lost ground against the growing belief that, through science, the world could be rationally understood and mastered for human purposes. Allied to this was the widespread acceptance of Auguste Comte’s positivist philosophy, which determined that reality consisted only of facts and observable phenomena, whose measurement could determine underlying laws of nature. By the mid-nineteenth century, rationalist thinking had spread to the social sciences, forming the basis of the newly-emerging ‘science’ of planning (Sandercock 1998).

Accordingly, planning theory began, and largely remains embedded, in the assumption that planning is an objective activity with a “conceptual commitment to holistic templates; … emphasis on logic, order, science and rationality; and the belief in enlightened public intervention for the greater social good” (Freestone 2000:8).

The enduring concept of the ‘master plan’, whereby the future of urban form was planned through objective representations of a place, was also founded in a positivist frame. Early examples are the Garden City and City Beautiful movements of the late 19th and early 20th centuries which aimed to create cities designed by experts that would be both functional and aesthetically pleasing (Alexander 1995). The master planning approach is still highly influential, being incorporated for example in New Urbanist methodologies in the 1990s (Arendt, Leccese, and McCormick 1999).

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Rationalist approaches similarly underlie the systems approach developed in the 1960s and 70s. General systems theory permeated many disciplines, a system being conceived of as a set of objects together with the relationships between the objects and their attributes. Applied to planning, it has led to the development of models of systems such as nodal regions, movement networks and urban hierarchies (Haggett, Cliff, and Frey 1977). Using measurable information in systems models, planners seek to generate predictable representations of the present and future.

Rationalism also formed the basis of modernism, which emerged most strongly during the post-war period of the 1950s and 60s, largely as a reaction against the perceived tyranny of historic styles and ways of thinking. In architecture, this was expressed through a design aesthetic of functionalism, rejecting all historical references and designing for a clean, machine-like functionality. In planning it was epitomised by the idea that urban problems could be resolved through comprehensive city planning, such as extensive slum clearances and urban renewal programmes. Extensive urban reconstructions occurred, only to be soundly criticised for their failures to consider the human needs for social interaction (Jacobs 1962).

Though widely discredited as a sole paradigm, the rational model has continued to provide the meta-theory for planning activity (Fainstein 2000). Rational and systems planning theories continue to dominate academic literature and planning practices (Sandercock 1998). Planners largely maintain the role of the ‘experts’ who determine the future forms of cities and regions through rational methods such as zoning and master planning.

Theories based on Enlightenment thinking offer little assistance in considering cultural values in landscapes. From a rational planning perspective, ‘landscape’ is largely equivalent to the rationalist ‘city’ or ‘region’ - an objective phenomenon that can be mapped, master-planned, and systematically analysed. Yet landscapes are more than physical entities; they hold elusive and often immeasurable meanings. Cultural values are likely to be intangible as well as tangible; subjective as well as objective; faith-based as well as science-based; and to be expressed by diverse groups and individuals. To

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consider values in landscapes, therefore, it is necessary to give legitimacy to multiple forms of knowledge, to accept non-rational forms of information, and to listen to many voices - those which may be considered ‘expert’ in western thinking, as well as those which may be ‘expert’ because of their personal associations and knowledge. These ways of thinking lie outside of the rational world-view.

2.2.2 Post-positivism

In order to find meta-theories within which cultural values in landscapes comfortably lie, it is necessary to look at the work of theorists who have challenged Enlightenment thinking. Such challenges are largely sourced in the overall shift in social science thinking from positivism toward humanism in the latter half of the 20th century. This paradigm shift was most powerfully influenced by postmodernism, but also had other sources. Allmendinger (2002) has usefully clustered these influences under the term ‘post-positivism’.

Post-positivist thinking was foreshadowed by the hermeneutic tradition, which questioned the applicability of scientific methods to social sciences. Karl Mannheim’s critique of Enlightenment thinking, for example, proposes that social and historical factors can influence how an object is viewed. His sociology of knowledge examines how differences in social setting can influence meaning (Sandercock 1998). The Frankfurt school went further, rejecting the idea of objective knowledge, suggesting that the world could not be explained by measurable information alone (Kelly 1994). The wave of rejection became postmodernism, “a set of philosophical and methodological discourses that are antagonistic to the legacies of Enlightenment thought” (Dear and Flusty 2002: xi). Postmodernism discards the notion of universal truth and the concept that any single theory should have privilege over any other. Hallmarks include consciousness of difference, relativity of knowledge, and the influence of context. Realist versions of existence are rejected; instead, multiple realities exist according to personal opinion and experience, which can be expressed in a myriad of ways according to particular interpretations. As will be discussed in the following sections, the planning

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approaches that emerged from post-positivism provide greater scope to consider cultural values in landscapes.

2.2.3 Post-positivist approaches to space

Post-positivism strongly influenced theoretical development on the significance and roles of culture and space in social theory. Within a rationalist frame, space existed only as a measurable, mappable phenomenon. Objective notions of space were not only part of the planning tradition: geography, always influential in planning thought, also long remained within a reductionist and positivist frame, treating space as “a world of passivity and measurement rather than action and meaning” (Soja 1989:37). Soja suggests that the nineteenth century obsession with time and history led to space being “occluded, devalued and depoliticized” (p4), so that the social and cultural meanings of space were largely ignored. Space was treated as “the dead, the fixed, the undialectical, the immobile” (Foucault 1980:70) and was thus submerged in critical thought.

The reassertion of space arose from the dual influence of western Marxism and critical human geography, which began from the 1970s to examine the historical geography of capitalism, and moved to consider fundamental relationships between society and spatial arrangements (Thrift 2002). The new approaches in geography also put humanistic emphasis on the symbolic as well as the material dimensions of culture. The fundamentally rationalist concept of ‘cultural landscapes’, for example, offered by geographer Carl Sauer as a unifying theme for geography in the 1920s, had stressed the function of culture in shaping features and patterns of the landscape. As an empiricist, Sauer focused on measurable phenomena and largely ignored the subjective aspects of landscape such as aesthetics, its meanings to culture groups, or its role in cultural life (Leighly 1963). Geography’s humanist turn broadened the concept of cultural landscapes to include consideration of the importance of urban landscapes, dynamics, and human meaning (Daniels 1989).

The work of French philosopher Henri Lefebvre introduced new ideas about the relationships between space and power. Lefebvre (1974) proposed that space is an

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active component in constructing, maintaining and challenging the social order. He disputed the notion, strongly institutionalised in planning, that space is empty and awaiting use. Representations of space such as zoning maps are “the space of scientists … urbanists, technocrats and social engineers” (p38). Such models, he argued, impose an abstract reality which can be contrasted with the deeply symbolic and culturally embedded ‘representational space’ – the space of memories, dreams and meaning - which is not acknowledged in most conventional systems of representation. Urban planning’s focus on abstractions of physical space, he suggested, omit the meanings and time-depth inherent in places to those who live there.

Cross-fertilisation of spatial thinking into planning also occurred through Marxist theorists such as Manuel Castells, who proposed that spatial forms express and implement power relations between oppressors and the oppressed. In this way space does not just reflect society, but “is society” (Castells 1983:4). The geographic inequalities of the city were also of concern to Kevin Cox (1973), who suggests that deprivation and conflict is a spatial and locational phenomena. Neo-Marxist concerns about the social and spatial inequality engendered by capitalism also led to ‘Just City’ models which seek solutions through participation in decision-making by the powerless, and through this to greater equity of outcomes (Sandercock 1998; Harvey 2002).

For post-positivist theorists, then, space or the physical environment is not a given; it is socially constructed to both “reflect and configure being in the world” (Soja 1989:25). Any locale is “at once a complex synthesis of objects, patterns and processes, derived from the simultaneous interaction of different levels of social process operating at varying geographical scales” (Dear and Flusty 2002:2-3). Postmodern theories reject the idea that space is an inert background, and that time is necessarily dynamic and chronological; instead they promote “a depthless synchronic collage that juxtaposes part and present moments in a fragmented city” (Crang 2001:163).

Despite these developments, planning has largely failed to successfully conceptualise qualitative space, still relying heavily on rational representations such as the master plan. Planners’ space largely remains a physical phenomenon, “undifferentiated and

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objectively manipulable according to the constraints of functional efficiency, economics and the whims of planners and developers” (Relph 1976:23). The subjective space of meaning and significance is predominantly overlooked. While postmodernism may have influenced planning to accept the messy vitality of cities and appreciate the context of new development (Bourassa 1991), the lack of a comprehensive approach to conceptualising space in its fullest sense remains problematic. As noted by Harvey (2002): It is crucial to formulate a proper conception of space if we are to understand urban phenomena and society in general; yet the nature of space has remained something mysterious to social enquiry. (p61)

A very recent theme in planning literature is the ‘rediscovery’ of the importance of space (e.g. Graham and Healey 1999; Jensen and Richardson 2001). Currently these discussions appear to be confined largely to the context of the globalisation of cities and rapidly disappearing national boundaries, particularly in Europe. Graham and Healey, for example, focus on the need for new conceptions of time and place to deal with the emerging global society. They argue that contemporary single-dimensional and scientific planning approaches need to evolve in order to grapple with new dynamic and relational constructs of space. Noting that little critical attention has been paid to how socio-spatial relations are conceived, they call for a new spatial language, suggesting that planning theory and practice needs to consider different rationalities, information flows, power relations, processes, and the multiple meanings of space and time.

At a more applied level, the term ‘spatial planning’ has been used by Harris and Hooper (2004) to describe planning responses to new spatial scales in planning in England and Europe. Reaching across national and sectoral boundaries, this approach seeks to address the strategic management of spaces or territories. Noting that planning policies in England are typically devoid of any explicit concerns with space or place, Harris and Hooper, citing Murdoch and Abraham (2002), relate spatial planning to the “reassertion of the importance of geography and place, resulting in pressures for the activity of planning to restore a sense of ‘deep spatial belonging’ from which it has historically become detached” (p149). Friedmann and others similarly call for a return to ‘strategic spatial planning’, suggesting that too little attention in planning practice has been given

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to local studies of the dynamics of urban socio-spatial development (Friedmann et al. 2004).

Whether this spatial turn is the beginning of a new planning approach, whereby “making plans” will re-emerge as a spatial practice of “making space” (Perry 1995:223) is too early to predict. Certainly, it is as yet a nascent and relatively limited discussion. It provides a foundation for the discussion of increased spatial thinking in planning, but so far is of relatively little assistance in providing a conceptual framework for considering cultural values in landscapes.

2.2.4 Post-positivist approaches to knowledge and community

Post-positivism has also influenced the development of a sturdy theme of public participation in decision-making. Post-positivist paradigms challenge the rationalist view that expert knowledge is paramount. Postmodern approaches in particular suggest that all knowledge is situated by the knower’s position in social and geographical space, and any single form of knowledge is not necessarily ‘correct’. By revealing a world of alternative perspectives of knowledge, postmodernism highlights the problems that arise when one particular way of seeing gains privilege over others and becomes all-powerful (Haraway 1991). This can occur in any setting where power elites or experts have a stronger influence than others, such as where community members and experts hold different views. It can be particularly stratified where worldviews differ, such as between western experts and indigenous groups.

The significance of spatial values and landscapes to indigenous peoples, for example, is frequently overlooked in development decision-making (Sims and Thompson-Fawcett 2002; Head 2000). In particular, the absence of a physical phenomenon associated with the expressed value can downgrade its perceived significance. In New Zealand, for example, a four-lane road was approved to pass through a sacred Māori site, on the basis that there was no proof that burials had occurred in the footprint of the proposed road, despite the protestations of the indigenous group that the entire area was sacred for many (intangible) reasons (Ruru and Stephenson 2004). At the other extreme, a

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proposal to physically alter the steps of the National War Memorial met with spirited opposition, and planning consent was refused (Serious About Heritage Society Inc. v Wellington City Council 2003). The continued preference for physical over intangible values arises, I suggest, from three entwined issues – one being a lack of legitimacy given to non-mainstream voices, the second being the lack of legitimacy given to intangible values generally, and the third being the absence of ways of accounting for intangible values within a physical setting.

While planning theory appears to have been less ready to develop models reflecting intangible values in space, it has responded to the post-positivist legitimisation of multiple forms of knowing. The inclusion of non-expert or community-based views in decision-making has been championed by a range of theorists, some also drawing inspiration from Marxist theory. Critical theory, for example, rejects the dominant capitalist ideology and champions the rights of ‘the people’ against the state. It became the inspiration for later empowerment models of social change (Sandercock 1998). Advocacy planners, such as Paul Davidoff and Herbert Gans, challenge the neutrality of the state and of planners themselves, and seek to give voices to the disempowered (Healey 1997). Davidoff, for example, argues that planning must accept that it cannot be value neutral. The role of planners is to take up arguments on behalf of their constituents so that all values are taken into account in decision-making, not just those of the power elites (Davidoff 1965).

The importance of values and locally held information is also emphasised in the social learning model. This theory suggests that the practitioner is not the sole source of knowledge, and that planners should move away from being the aloof experts towards reciprocal dialogue. All forms of knowledge should be valued, and planning should involve mutual learning by both planners and communities (Friedmann 1973; 1996). As a reaction to top-down planning based on a unitary public interest, the theory of communicative planning theory takes a similar stance. It recognises that planning is embedded in its own institutional context, but also has the capacity to change relations through new practices. Planners should work to build shared systems of meaning, form and transmit cultural layers, and recognise the cultural dimensions of difference (Healey

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1997). A planner’s primary function is to listen to people’s stories, and assist in forging a consensus among differing viewpoints (Fainstein 2000). Such participatory approaches have come to dominate planning thinking in the latter part of the twentieth century.

Postcolonial critiques offer further challenges to the privileging of scientific and technical knowledge, as colonised peoples insist on their own voice and status. The consensual representation of reality offered by scientists, planners and others is questioned by writers like bell hooks1 (1991), who suggests that other forms of reality can also have legitimacy, and that these alternative realities should be given authority. With particular relevance to spatial values, hooks notes Spaces can be real and imagined. Spaces can tell stories and unfold histories … The appropriation and use of space are political acts. (p152)

Responding to such ‘voices of difference’, Leonie Sandercock (1998) emphasises the transformative possibilities of planning, urging planners to engage in what she calls “insurgent practices” (p120) to achieve empowerment of the dispossessed. Planners should develop skills in communication, openness, empathy and sensitivity and work towards social justice, democracy and respect for cultural diversity. With particular relevance to landscapes, she suggests that planning needs to validate the “experiential, embodied, and contextualised knowledge” held by communities and ethnic groups, which is often founded in place (p120).

The community empowerment approaches discussed reflect a general shift in resource and environmental management from “technocratic, state-centred, expert-based approaches to local responsive (place-based) participatory and inclusive approaches” (Dakin 2003:186). They validate the significance of multiple forms of knowledge, and the need to engage all sectors of a community in decision-making. They offer great potential for engaging with communities to determine the values of landscapes, as applied for example in urban settings by Dolores Hayden (1995) (discussed later in this chapter). However, the focus of such approaches is on improving participation of

1 This writer does not use capital letters in her name.

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communities in planning processes. The conceptual issues relating to spatialised values are not addressed.

2.2.5 Landscape in urban design

To date, planning responses to spatial values have largely centred on the natural and historic aspects of landscape, as part of an overall urban design agenda. Landscape design and historic preservation have been long considered as part of planning’s domain.

A strong interest in the importance of open space was part of the visionary planning response to nineteenth century urban problems. The mid-nineteenth century saw the beginning of the parks movement, with the first urban garden being designed and established in Liverpool in 1844. Town design evolved to incorporate the need for parks and green belts. Late nineteenth century ‘Garden City’ visionary Ebenezer Howard, for example, proposed that new development should incorporate aspects of both country and city. His and his followers’ town designs incorporated concern for the aesthetics as well as the functionality of space, and influenced a subsequent century of ‘new town’ designs (Howard 1945). The need for urban green space was also articulated by landscape architects – notably by Frederick Law Olmstead, the founder of American landscape architecture. Olmsted was not only a designer of parks, but promoted an integrated approach to urban design that incorporated open space and transport networks (LeGates and Stout 1996).

Patrick Geddes, one of the ‘fathers’ of planning in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, was interested in town design but also concerned for the loss of the physical forms of the past. At that time, the huge changes wrought by the industrial revolution were creating a sharp division between past and present – rather than the past being visually and intellectually contiguous with the present, it was becoming irrelevant except as a source of resources and knowledge to be used in the search for progress. Within Britain, public concern at rapid change was institutionalised in organisations such as the Society of Antiquaries and the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings, but these

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organisations were primarily focused on historic buildings and history (Welter 2002). Geddes had a broader concern, proposing that preservation activities should consider entire urban areas.

In his influential ‘Outline scheme for a city survey and exhibition’, Geddes (1915) proposed that any plan for the future should begin with a survey of all possible aspects of the town or city, including its population and its geographical and economic conditions. The survey should also include an historical section, in which the history of the town should be traced back to its origins and forward to its present condition, to provide a picture of its strengths and weaknesses. The idea of the historical survey was not just to document what had survived, but to identify how and where to apply what Geddes called ‘conservative surgery’ – that is, careful adaptation of historic buildings and historic town layouts to modern requirements. He considered an active city should display traces of all the past phases of its evolution, and use its physical history as the transmitter of social inheritance (Branford and Geddes 1919).

Geddes’ urgings to ‘survey before plan’ were highly influential in subsequent planning practice, but his ideas on urban history, conservative surgery and the transmission of social inheritance withered. His was a relatively lone voice until community concerns began to be voiced following widespread ‘modernisation’ of cities after World War II. During the long post-war economic boom, the focus of planning activity was largely in response to urgent urban problems such as slums and traffic congestion. Wholescale clearance of historic townscapes and urban areas led to the loss of the familiar texture of cities, and its replacement with high-rise housing schemes and motorways (Ward 2002). From the 1960s, reaction against such extensive physical change began to be publicly voiced, particularly where it destroyed established communities, and replaced older buildings and street patterns (Cullen 1961). Critiques of modern urbanism led to planning and architectural efforts to preserve historic buildings and streets, to design in context, and to adopt regional building styles or the ‘vernacular’ (Ellin 1999).

The United States saw a similar change in emphasis, but was less influenced by a concern for the physical loss of familiar urban space, and more influenced by the social

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dislocation suffered by predominantly poor and black communities as they were moved from their established neighbourhoods into new high-rise housing estates. Jane Jacobs, for example, famously attacked the Garden City movement for its focus on the middle- class dream of wholesome suburban living, while safely packaging the poor in high-rise buildings at the expense of socially vibrant inner-city neighbourhoods (Jacobs 1962).

The research tradition of urban morphology also influenced thinking in the planning and management of urban areas (Whitehand and Larkham 1992). A growing interest in the historic aspects of urban form thus proceeded simultaneously with dissatisfaction with twentieth century urban design. The result has been an increasing interest in the retention of historic urban forms, both at the level of individual historic buildings, and at the broader landscape level. Planning agendas from the 1970s onwards have included a concern for ‘townscape’ or ‘cityscape’, the rehabilitation of housing, and the preservation of historic structures and special areas such as historic town centres.

Despite this stream of preservationist thinking, planning has continued to have a primary focus on the technical aspects of urban expansion and renewal, a tendency which has drawn criticism because of the bland and homogenous developments which result. Crang (1998) encapsulates this concern: The human landscapes of places to which people are attached are sacrificed to placeless, soulless new spaces which are functionally more efficient but reduce the quality of experience….. Scientism and the endless pursuit of technological improvement do not speak to issues of ethics or values. Indeed they have declared themselves value-free or neutral. This lack of connection by technical experts is seen as both disempowering and dangerous. (p106)

In an effort to address planning’s lack of consideration of the ‘human experience of the landscape’, Kevin Lynch (1976) sought to shape design responses at a landscape scale. He was concerned that new developments were largely determined on the grounds of practical considerations such as economics, transport, and space requirements, and were possibly later ‘beautified’ by some professional, but that rarely was the social importance of the place considered. His earlier research (1960) on people’s navigation through cities identified five main features of the physical landscape that provide a sense of place – paths, edges, districts, nodes and landmarks. Through the structuring of

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landscapes according to these factors, he sought to achieve city design which offered a clarity of structure, and strong symbols which would generate a sense of place and encourage “the deposit of a memory trace” (Lynch 1960:119). His approach, however, was concerned with measuring and creating spatial patterns which provide legibility and distinctiveness, rather than the cultural values that may be associated with the urban landscape generally.

Urban design has continued to be a central feature of planning, and possibly the most consistent planning-based response to landscape values. Preservation of buildings and townscapes and the contextual design of new buildings have persisted as planning considerations as well as architectural concerns. Concern with a lack of distinctiveness in modern development has also given rise to late twentieth century design approaches such as New Urbanism and Smart Growth. These have emerged from a group of practitioners grappling with how to make new, largely suburban, developments into places that evoke a traditional sense of place and feeling of community (Ward 2002). New Urbanism, for example, promotes the need to return to the design principles embodied in traditional American towns, attempting to structure spatial relations according to historic forms so as to create a close-knit social community (Arendt, Leccese, and McCormick 1999). A certain incongruity is evident in the fact that while conscious attempts are being made to create a ‘sense of place’ in new urban environments, there is limited consideration in planning theory on the impact of development on existing ‘sense of place’ in both urban and rural landscapes.

Where ‘landscape’ is specifically considered in planning theory, it is predominantly in relation to the quality of urban design, the need for open space, or the protection of significant townscapes. No consistent and overriding concept of landscape and its values has emerged, but rather a variety of responses to the protection, enhancement and development of certain physical aspects of the environment.

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2.2.6 Sustainability

A relatively recent influence which encourages a less fractionated approach to planning is the sustainability agenda. The concept of sustainability first became prominent on the world stage in 1987 in the report on the World Commission on Environment and Development (Brundtland 1987), which sought to reconcile environmental priorities and social concerns with economic development. It was given further international credibility through its inclusion in the report of the Earth Summit Conference in Rio de Janiero (United Nations 1992) and its follow-up in the Rio+5 and Rio+10 conferences (Bigg 2004). Definitions of sustainable development stress the importance of living within the ecological carrying capacity and considering the needs of future generations.

Since the 1990s, sustainable development has become the basis for a new planning discourse (Deoux 1998; Ward 2002). Certain issues relating to sustainability – in particular the environment, the management of resources and the control of development – fall within the scope of planning activity (Friedmann et al. 2004). The concept has offered a comprehensive framework for reconsidering the purpose and practice of planning, broadening its focus from urbanism to include the environment generally, and encouraging it to consider social, economic and environmental issues in tandem (Allmendinger and Chapman 1999).

Although the initial focus of sustainable development strategies was the environment, greater consideration is now being given to its application in social and cultural spheres (Freeman and Thompson-Fawcett 2003). Urban-focused sustainability practices, for example, are concerned not only with environmental and economic issues, but also social sustainability (Ward 2002). Proposing a ‘new planning agenda’ based on sustainability, Beatley and Manning (1997) suggest that communities must nurture memorable settlement patterns, respect history and natural features, and create and preserve places, rituals and events that foster community cohesion. Amongst the many dimensions of sustainability, they note that landscapes sustain people and communities in many ways, including spiritually, visually and aesthetically.

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Some applications of sustainability concepts take further cognisance of the importance of local landscapes to communities. Bio-regionalism, for example, is promoted as a cross-disciplinary and community-based movement which attempts to link people with their urban or rural environment, working on the basis of watersheds, ecosystems and unique cultures. The movement is promoted by landscape architect Robert Thayer (2003) as “a means of living by deep understanding of, respect for, and ultimately care of a naturally bounded region or territory” (p3-4). He describes the bio-regional movement as a loose association of groups and thinkers who seek to address the contemporary severance of humans from nature, and the loss of community, identity, purpose and sense of place. “Although by no means a unified philosophy, theory or method, the bioregional approach suggests …. that a mutually sustainable future for humans, other life- forms and earthly systems can best be achieved by means of a spatial framework in which people live as rooted, active, participating members of a reasonably scaled, naturally bounded, ecologically defined territory, or life-place.” (p6)

While it takes a holistic and sustainable approach to living in a locality, the bio-regional agenda does not extend to conceptualising cultural values. Such concepts are also, as yet, largely outside of the scope of mainstream planning theory, or at best lie at its perimeter.

Sustainability also offers a temporal dimension often missing from planning practice (Graham and Healey 1999). The concept encourages consideration of what has proved to be sustainable in the past, as well as what could be sustained into the future. Considering the past and present dimensions of landscape may offer a way of discovering and understanding people-environment interactions at a localised scale, the contributions of landscapes to sustaining cultural identity, and the practices that have proved to be sustainable over time.

2.2.7 Discussion

Despite the wide-ranging critiques of the rational model, positivism still dominates the “deep intellectual foundations” of much planning theory and practice (Graham and Healey 1999: 625). A fundamental tool of planning continues to be the rational

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representation of space as a map or plan, which assumes that only those things which are physically mapped carry significance. Such representations impose a loaded, symbolic and often unconscious version of reality and exclude the memories, dreams and meanings that exist in the ‘real’ world. Such institutionalised notions of space are not only internally referential, but are given effect to in the development of urban space (Liggett 1995). Accordingly, a tension exists between the recognition of localised values and the “calculating reason which would have all the elements of a city uniformly assimilated by planning” (Barthes 1986:91).

Few planning theorists have considered the cultural values of space in a comprehensive way. As discussed above, various threads of planning thought relating to space, community participation, urban design and sustainability offer some assistance in conceptual or applied approaches to landscape. The threads however, are largely unrelated and offer a fractionated and largely geographic approach. The broader connotations of landscape appear, at best, to be a ‘fringe’ concern of planning theory. Like fish that can’t see water, planning theorists appear to have chosen to focus on directing and controlling what happens in the landscape, while largely ignoring the context of landscape. As Graham and Healey (1999) note, while much attention has been paid to theorizing and conceptualizing public participation in procedural planning, little attention has yet been paid to the socio-spatial nature of the places being planned.

Some conjectures can be proffered as to why this is the case. It could, in part, be because the prime focus of planning is on the future. Possibly as a consequence, there is a lack of attention paid to the past, or in particular on the significance to contemporary society of the cultural values embedded in space and place. Another explanation may be that planning has traditionally concerned itself almost exclusively with the urban environment. Theories of planning are thus largely urban theories. By largely focusing on finding explanations and solutions to urban problems, planning theory has mainly considered urban landscapes, and in particular how to re-shape urban areas into new, more efficient forms. At a theoretical level, little consideration has been given to conceptualising both urban and rural landscapes as meaning-filled spaces.

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2.3 Applied approaches to landscape assessment

Having reviewed some influential themes in the development of planning thought, this section will examine how landscape values are assessed and incorporated into planning decision-making. For planning to consider landscape and its values in an integrated and holistic way, there are certain prerequisites. Firstly, there needs to be recognition of the significance of landscapes to people, communities and ethnic groups, both in terms of immediate sensory significance and values that arise from past interactions. Secondly, methods of landscape assessment need to take into account the broad range of values that relate to any particular landscape. Overarching this, there needs to be a way of conceptualising landscape in all of its dimensions, moving beyond the arbitrary division of natural and cultural values to a recognition of their interconnectedness. This section examines how planning, as a discipline that controls and changes landscapes, currently approaches these needs.

2.3.1 The significance of landscapes to communities

Concepts of place and belonging suggest that people become collectively attached to the particular landscapes with which they associate. ‘Insiders’, for whom a given landscape is a lived-in, everyday, embedded experience (residents, indigenous groups) are likely to attribute different meanings to those who ‘view’ it from outside (e.g. tourists, investors, planners and other landscape ‘experts’) (Williams 1973). For residents of an area, aspects of the environment and events link the present with the past, and places can become symbolic of shared stories, meanings and values. In this way, environments and events create and affirm community and cultural identities (Stewart, Liebert, and Larkin 2004). ‘Outsiders’, by comparison, respond to landscapes through their senses (e.g. responding to ‘scenery’ and ‘views’) and through the value sets that they bring with them (e.g. investment opportunities, expert knowledge of ecology or archaeology). Notions of landscape value are thus held differently by ‘insiders’ and ‘outsiders’.

As will be discussed later in this chapter and further in Chapter 5, formal assessment methods in both planning and other disciplines largely focus on ‘outsider’ value sets.

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Yet, even in an increasingly globalised world, the cognitive and behavioural bonds between people and place remain important. In a study of place attachment, for example, Gustafson (2001) found contemporary geographic mobility does not necessarily contradict the importance of place – both ‘roots’ (attachments to place) and ‘routes’ (the enjoyment of mobility) contribute to people’s well-being and satisfaction.

Much has been written in disciplines other than planning about the significance of place or landscape to communities and cultural identity. The literature ranges from sociological and anthropological work, to psychological studies of ‘place identity’ which examine residents’ conceptions of themselves as located in a particular space and time and as members of a community and cultural group. It is repeatedly found that culture and identity are not just about social relationships, but are also profoundly spatial. A sense of belonging to emotionally, socially and culturally significant places is an important facet in both self-identity and group identity. These are intimately connected with tangible environments, and the events and history that have occurred in them. (Stokowski 1996; Stratford 1999; Christensen and Levison 2003). Within planning literature, however, commentary on the cultural significance of landscapes to communities and cultural groups is scarce, apart from values able to be defined by ‘outsiders’, such as ecology and scenery.

Communicative planning and related participatory theories do take an ethical position that all stakeholders should have a voice in decision-making, based on the understanding that peoples’ thinking about issues are embedded in where they come from (Healey 1997). The focus of participatory planning, however, is on involving communities in the process of change, and collaborating to create new futures, rather than necessarily sustaining values of the past and present.

Some exceptions exist. Leonie Sandercock’s call to listen to the ‘voices of difference’ has already been referred to (Sandercock 1998). Another champion of the power and significance of the urban landscape is Dolores Hayden (1995). She describes urban landscapes as storehouses of social memory, where multiple stories are held within a shared territory. Discovering their meanings and stories, she suggests, requires a

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community-based process which may involve planners, public historians, landscape architects, urban geographers and archaeologists working with those for whom the place resonates with collective or personal significance. She suggests that the merging of knowledge and concerns of professionals and residents to interpret and understand history in the urban landscape is an “emerging area of interdisciplinary work” (p76). While Hayden offers perhaps the most ardent appreciation of the power of place, she limits herself to the urban landscape, and her examples are primarily related to the recognition and interpretation of individual historic structures and interpretive artworks memorialising working class women and ethnic histories.

In disciplines other than planning, there is a burgeoning interest in involving communities in landscape assessment. An Australian case study, for example, sought to simultaneously address ecological sustainability, reconciliation and multiculturalism through a focus on people’s sense of belonging and attachment to a particular place. The researchers found that ‘place’ was a useful organising principle and brought together groups that were not customarily in dialogue at the regional level. As social ecologists, they noted that community development and environmental conservation tend to be dealt with in quite different ways, and they found it liberating for them to be considered together under the broader concept of ‘place’ (Cameron, Mulligan, and Wheatley 2004).

In another example, American landscape ecologists studied residents’ felt senses of community using photo-elicitation and interviews to connect community meanings to places and events. They found that important places in the landscape could be clustered into places to learn about community landscapes, places to enact community and places to improve landscapes. The researchers note that change processes are not always sensitive to the plurality of environmental meanings. They suggest that when structural ‘improvements’ are proposed, planning systems should aim to enhance a sense of community by legitimising community meanings and ensuring they continue to be represented in local landscapes (Stewart, Liebert, and Larkin 2004).

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In a third example, a concern with the narrow conception of ‘aesthetic’ landscape value used in resource and environmental management in Canada led to a study which sought to draw on residents’ perspectives of landscape. Geographer Susan Dakin (2003) engaged community members in photographing, writing and talking about their local landscapes in order to capture a grounded understanding of aesthetic value. Her study shows a richness of landscape not captured by current ‘expert’ methods of landscape assessment. She found that …the rich landscapes revealed by inhabitants reflect a concept of landscape that is more complex than the static, visual stimulus conceptualized in resource management. … A landscape is significant not only because its visual features are compositionally of high quality or because we like how it looks (which conventional assessments ascertain) but also for how it feels to be there, or what it looked like in the past, or whether it is ecologically healthy, and – most significantly – for all of these at the same time [emphasis in original] (p194)

These examples, based in the disciplinary fields of social ecology, landscape ecology and geography, indicate the potential of engaging communities in determining the significance of their landscapes. They are, at best, on the fringes of planning theory and practice – outcomes of such studies may influence localised planning decisions but the approaches they are adopting have not yet been considered the domain of planning.

2.3.2 Common forms of landscape assessment

Landscape assessment is a term used to capture the suite of methods used to assess the value or significance of landscapes. The practice of landscape assessment commonly lies outside of the planning framework. Formal landscape evaluation tools are based on the practice of specific disciplines or are determined by national laws, guidelines or practices. These methodologies frequently define typologies of values to guide landscape characterisation. The values ascribed to places or landscapes are typically ordered into categories according to the values of the different disciplines, fields of knowledge or uses (Avrami, Mason, and de la Torre 2000). Planners may use the outcomes of such assessments to inform the development of policies and plans. Three of the most common systems of formal evaluation – landscape quality assessments, ecological assessments and cultural heritage assessments – will be discussed below.

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2.3.3 Landscape quality assessments

Landscape quality assessments are predominantly carried out by landscape architects. ‘Quality’ is conceived primarily in terms of the visual or experiential qualities of landscapes. Approaches are strongly influenced by design and picturesque principles, although increasingly ecological or ‘natural’ values are also considered (Swaffield and Foster 2000). Dakin (2003) notes a ‘loose but unified field’ of landscape assessment techniques. These are most often based on methods developed within landscape architecture, but techniques are also influenced by behavioural geography and psychology, which have contributed methods of measuring observer responses to landscape.

Reviewers of assessment methodologies have grouped them generally into three typologies which Dakin calls “expert, experimental and experiential” (Dakin 2003: 187). ‘Expert’ approaches use ecological or formal aesthetic criteria, applied by an expert in those fields. Landscape studies using these methods identify visible features that are said to contribute to or detract from aesthetic quality. The outcomes are statements or maps of landscape, often valued along a single dimension such as relative scenic quality or visual sensitivity.

Experimental methods such as psychophysical approaches measure people’s preferences for types of landscape. They seek to identify relationships between objective aspects of the landscape and the preferences expressed by random samples of population, using methods such as preference scoring of photographs. The cognitive approach uses similar scoring methods but the analysis seeks to understand the perceptual processes that underlie preference (Swaffield and Foster 2000). Again, the object is to quantify landscape quality using physical variables such as topography, and cognitive variables such as mystery and naturalness (Dakin 2003).

The ‘experiential’ paradigm seeks to understand community responses to landscape using ethnographic methods to determine subjective experiences of landscape. The

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physical landscape is downplayed in favour of understanding landscape meanings as expressed by the communities or culture groups that are attached to them. Experiential approaches have received little attention in planning and environmental management circles as they are considered to be idiosyncratic, individualistic and subjective (Zube, Sell, and Taylor 1982).

Most landscape assessment literature and applications still involve ‘expert’ approaches, which are typically institutionalised in policy and laws, and entrenched in practice. The result is “the acceptance and reinforcement of an impoverished understanding of landscape aesthetics in narrow visual terms” (Dakin 2003: 190).

2.3.4 ‘Natural’ values of landscapes

Evaluations of ‘natural’ values may include the relative ecological importance of parts of the landscape, or its ‘naturalness’ based on the degree of visible human influence. Generally carried out by experts, studies of localised ecologies may be carried out as stand-alone works (e.g. Wilson 1992) or incorporated into landscape quality assessments (e.g. Swaffield and Lucas 1999).

Ecological evaluation was conceptually linked into planning through the work of Ian McHarg (1971). Responding to concerns about the environmental limitations to urban growth, McHarg proposed that urban and peri-urban areas should be designed in harmony with natural systems. In his work, inventories were used to identify and map physical limitations to development, such as ecological areas or areas prone to flooding. These were overlain to determine which areas would be best suited for particular land uses. While information on the natural environment was given the greatest weight, McHarg’s inventories were intended to include ‘human artifacts’, which in practice (e.g. Fabos and Caswell 1977) are physical structures which might be of use or hindrance to future development. McHarg’s work was seminal in that he introduced what today might be considered a landscape approach – looking at areas holistically, and attempting to integrate a variety of information about the physical environment and its processes – but he failed to undertake any methodical consideration of cultural values. Even the

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title of his influential publication ‘Design With Nature’ (1971) signifies his interest in natural rather than cultural systems. His approach still has currency today, although the extent of his influence in planning (compared to his influence in landscape architecture) is surprisingly limited, especially given its relevance to ecological sustainability.

More recently, planning approaches have begun to be influenced by biodiversity and sustainability concepts. Landscape scale studies have been undertaken, for example, to protect species diversity in urban and rural areas (Hawkins and Selman 2002; Breuste 2004), and to consider the sustainability of urban areas in their landscape context (Jensen et al. 2000; Pauleit, Ennos, and Golding in press). Typically, these methodologies appear to be spearheaded from the theoretical bases of environmental disciplines such as ecology and landscape ecology. Such expressions of ecological significance are ‘cultural’ values to the extent that they represent a human assessment of significance arising from an appreciation of the values of natural systems. They do not, however, offer a way of incorporating other cultural values inherent in the landscape.

2.3.5 ‘Heritage’ values of landscapes

The concept of heritage has evolved over time. Originally meaning those things which have been inherited (generally through family inheritance), the rise of antiquarianism in the west in the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries led to an extension of the concept to include the relics and places that reflected the past (Lowenthal 1985). At the same time, a growing romanticism was attached to certain types of historic landscape, aided by the poetry and art of the period. Heritage protection movements were largely spearheaded in England, where the focus was initially on antiquities and ‘monuments’ (ruins and archaeological sites). By the late nineteenth century this had emerged as a movement to also protect historic buildings. Historic preservation of broader areas (mainly urban historic town centres) took off largely as a result of concerns at the post- World War II clearances, and the wholescale modernisation of urban areas.

Until the 1960s, heritage protection generally took the form of protecting buildings and their historic setting, with architectural values being the dominant element (Schulyer

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2000). Interest in preserving the broader setting of urban landscapes was influenced by environmental concerns and also an interest in the associative values of urban open space and parks. However, it was not until the 1990s that heritage protection agencies began to seriously consider ‘cultural landscapes’ or ‘heritage landscapes’ within their gamut of interest.

This recent expansion of the concept of heritage is illustrated by the evolution of the UNESCO World Heritage Convention. The International Convention for the Protection of the World’s Cultural and Natural Heritage was adopted by UNESCO in 1972. It established an international instrument for recognising and protecting both cultural and natural heritage of ‘outstanding universal value’ (Rossler 2000). The Convention defines the categories of natural or cultural sites which can be considered for inscription. For the Convention’s first 20 years, World Heritage sites largely consisted on the one hand of sites with significant natural values, and on the other hand structures, sites and areas with significant cultural values. The latter were usually of limited physical extent although they included historic urban town centres. It should be noted that the Convention also allowed for the protection of the ‘combined works of nature and man’. However it was not until 1992 that the Convention included ‘cultural landscapes’ within its scope of potential World Heritage sites, since which a range of culturo-natural sites have received inscription.

Various approaches to assessing heritage values at a landscape scale have emerged in tandem with this expanding realm of heritage. Some examples from England exemplify these evolving methodologies. Since the 1980s, archaeological and historic surveys have broadened from focusing on individual sites, to a much wider landscape framework, and are now used to help understand the historic character of an area as a whole (Thackray 1999). Landscapes such as historic parks, gardens and battlefields are formally recognised by English Heritage. Evaluation methods such as Historic Landscape Characterisation and Landscape Character Assessment are promoted by agencies such as English Heritage and The Countryside Agency to help ensure that development in and around rural towns and villages is sensitively designed and located to reflect local character (Watkins, Chalmers, and Kerven 2002). Another approach is

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the Historic Landscape Characterisation programme, which analyses and catalogues rural landscapes, using categories such as historic processes, land use and appearance (Swanwick and Land Use Consultants 2002). Historic (and physically measurable) values are largely uppermost in such methods.

Depending on the jurisdiction, assessments of heritage value are generally guided by predetermined international or national assessment systems, such as UNESCO’s World Heritage Convention (UNESCO 1972), the English Landscape Character Assessment (Swanwick 2002), or the US Park Service’s assessment criteria for historic sites (McClelland et al. 1992). Evaluation methods typically incorporate a range of value categories that depend on the purpose of the assessment. Landscape Character Assessment, for example, draws from combinations of geology, landforms, soils, vegetation, land use, field patterns and human settlement (Swanwick 2002). The US Park Service, in comparison, evaluates historic properties (including rural historic landscapes) according to their association with past events of significant people, their distinctiveness, their information value, and whether the place retains integrity of location, design, setting, workmanship, materials, feeling and association (McClelland et al. 1992). There appears to be very little in the way of international conceptual consistency in evaluation methodologies, except perhaps to the extent that the international non-governmental organisation ICOMOS2 has promoted, since 1964, a series of national and international charters that attempt to express principles of evaluation and conservation. The Australian ICOMOS Charter for the Conservation of Places of Cultural Significance (Burra Charter), for example, defines cultural significance as meaning aesthetic, historic, scientific or social value for past, present or future generations (ICOMOS Australia 1982). New Zealand’s ICOMOS Charter similarly defines cultural heritage value as “possessing historical, archaeological, architectural, technological, aesthetic, scientific, spiritual, social, traditional or other special cultural significance, associated with human activity” (ICOMOS New Zealand 1992:4).

2 International Council on Monuments and Sites

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Despite the potential plethora of values in any given place or area, heritage management agencies commonly use typologies to group significant places into predetermined categories. The approach taken by UNESCO in categorising ‘cultural landscapes’ for World Heritage status is illustrative. Three categories of cultural landscape have been adopted by UNESCO. The first category is intentionally created and designed landscapes (such as gardens and parks). The second group is landscapes which have organically evolved over time from human use, and can consist of either ‘relict landscapes’ where the evolutionary process abruptly ended, or ‘continuing landscapes’ where it retains an active social role in society while closely associated with a traditional way of life. The third category is the ‘associative cultural landscape’ where powerful religious, artistic or cultural associations exist with the natural environment. The focus of the nomination process is to define and analyse an area that is consistent with a typology and exhibits ‘outstanding universal value’ (Rossler 2000). A similarly typological approach can be seen for example in the United States, where the US National Park Service has identified four types of cultural landscape: historic sites, historic designed landscapes, historic vernacular landscapes and ethnographic landscapes (Birnbaum 1996).

In the context of planning processes, typological approaches provide a clear structure and certainty to heritage evaluation. A landscape will either fall into a typology, or will not. If it fits the necessary criteria, it can be identified and managed according to the requirements of the particular jurisdiction. If it falls outside of the criteria, it is not ‘heritage’ and thus will not require special management. The problem with this approach, I would argue, is that landscapes do not stop and start, and neither do values. A typological approach assumes that heritage values can be neatly sorted into ‘historic’ or ‘aesthetic’ or ‘associative’, for example, and are confined to certain places or areas. The reality, particularly as experienced at a community level, may be quite different. Landscapes may hold a plethora of differing and interwoven values, many of which are not necessarily obvious to outsiders.

Accordingly, there is a growing interest, within the heritage sector in particular, in involving communities in identifying the heritage values of their own locality. In the

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past, heritage evaluation techniques have typically been expert-based, involving specialist disciplines which provide information in their particular disciplinary area. The spectrum of experts may include, for example, historians, archaeologists, landscape architects and conservation architects. In New Zealand, for example, heritage legislation requires that registered historic places must possess “aesthetic, archaeological, architectural, cultural, historical, scientific, social, spiritual, technological, or traditional significance or value” (section 23, Historic Places Act 1993). Experts in such areas assess significance according to these criteria, and overall significance is generated by a condensation of these individual values into summary statements.

While most heritage evaluations still rely purely or primarily on ‘expert’ disciplinary assessment (particularly where this is to achieve formal national or international recognition), some recent approaches seek to incorporate communities more directly in defining heritage values. In England, for example, complementary community-based work is being carried out by the organisation Common Ground, which began initiatives in 1986 to stimulate concern for retaining the distinctiveness of localities. Their Parish Map Project has been successful in bringing together local communities to define, record and map what is important about their place (Common Ground 2004). In Australia, the Commonwealth government has promoted a technique of ‘cultural mapping’ with a goal “to help communities recognise, celebrate, and support cultural diversity for economic, social and regional development” (Commonwealth Department of Communications and the Arts 1995:1). Like Common Ground, the technique involves encouraging community groups to record and conserve their culturally important resources through various means including histories, videos, artworks, thematic walks or improvement schemes. Other approaches use a combination of expert and ethnographic or psychosocial methods. In the United States heritage conservation context, for example, Setha Low promotes the technique of REAP (Rapid Ethnographic Assessment Procedures) which incorporates mapping physical traces and behaviour, carrying out transect walks, interviewing individuals and experts, facilitating focus groups, and researching historical and archival documents (Low 2002). Identification of places with cultural significance to indigenous groups also typically involves engaging with representatives of such groups. The National Park Service

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guidelines for ‘traditional cultural properties’ requires assessors to engage with the tribal groups having a particular interest in the site as well as gathering other external information (Parker, 1994). Because of the diverse nature of cultural values, such “pluralistic, eclectic” approaches to value assessment (Mason, 2002:8) are likely to be more successful and robust in revealing values than any single method. However, such approaches are still relatively rare, particularly in relation to the evaluation of heritage at a landscape scale, where techniques for such assessments are still emerging (Cotter, Boyd, and Gardiner 2001, Stephenson 2003b).

In relation to planning, the theory and practice of assessing heritage values appears to lie well outside of planning literature. Planners largely rely on heritage assessments undertaken by specialist agencies or experts from outside of the planning framework. Outcomes of these assessments may be incorporated into planning decisions, but the rationales for the methodologies used are rarely questioned within the planning framework.

2.3.6 Example: the planning context in New Zealand

The New Zealand planning context exemplifies the lack of a coherent approach to understanding cultural values in landscapes.

At a national institutional level, recognition and advocacy for values that might be considered to relate to ‘landscape’ or ‘environment’ are divided primarily between two government agencies – the Department of Conservation and the New Zealand Historic Places Trust – and local authorities (councils). The Department of Conservation (DoC) manages approximately one third of New Zealand’s land area for conservation purposes, and is predominantly focused on the conservation of valued natural resources within these areas. DoC also has an advocacy role in ‘promoting the conservation of natural and historic resources generally’ (Section 6(c) Conservation Act 1987). However, in practice the ‘historic’ component of DoC’s advocacy is minimal, as the primary responsibility for the identification of places of heritage value is vested in the New Zealand Historic Places Trust (NZHPT). Under the Historic Places Act 1993

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(HPA), the NZHPT is required to ‘promote the identification, protection, preservation, and conservation of the historical and cultural heritage of New Zealand’ (section 4 HPA). One of its key statutory roles is to develop and maintain a national Register of historic places, areas and wāhi tapu, and to advocate for their protection. The institutional structure for the recognition of heritage is thus largely divided according to ‘natural heritage’ (DoC) and ‘cultural heritage’ (NZHPT).

Where natural and cultural heritage is located on private land, the respective roles of DoC and NZHPT are largely limited to identification and advocacy. The main exception here is that the statutory protection of archaeological sites is vested in NZHPT. Under the HPA, archaeological sites that predate 1900 must not be modified or disturbed without the consent of the NZHPT (section 10 HPA). Apart from this, the management (conservation, protection or otherwise) of valued natural and cultural heritage located on private land is the responsibility of local authorities under the Resource Management Act 1991 (RMA).

The overriding purpose of the RMA is the promotion of “the sustainable management of natural and physical resources” (section 5(1)). These resources include “land, water, air, soil, minerals, and energy, all forms of plants and animals (whether native to New Zealand or introduced), and all structures” (section 2). The RMA makes it clear that sustainable management requires a simultaneous focus on enabling “people and communities to provide for their social, economic and cultural wellbeing” and on achieving certain environmental bottom lines. These include “safeguarding the life- supporting capacity” of natural systems, and “avoiding, remedying or mitigating any adverse effects of activities on the environment” (section 5(2)).

Under the RMA, local authorities (at both district and regional levels) are required to develop planning documents that specify how the resources within their jurisdiction are to be sustainably managed. As well as requiring local authorities to consult widely with their communities as to the proposed contents of these plans, the RMA provides guidance as to seven matters that are considered to be of national importance. These are

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a) The preservation of the natural character of the coastal environment (including the coastal marine area), wetlands, and lakes and rivers and their margins, and the protection of them from inappropriate subdivision, use, and development b) The protection of outstanding natural features and landscapes from inappropriate subdivision, use, and development c) The protection of areas of significant indigenous vegetation and significant habitats of indigenous fauna d) The maintenance and enhancement of public access to and along the coastal marine area, lakes, and rivers e) The relationship of Maori and their culture and traditions with their ancestral lands, water, sites, waahi tapu, and other taonga f) the protection of historic heritage from inappropriate subdivision, use, and development g) the protection of recognised customary activities (section 6 RMA)3

The list of matters of national importance, on the face of it, potentially captures an extraordinarily wide breadth of values. Natural character, outstanding natural landscapes, significant areas of vegetation, public access, Maori cultural traditions, historic heritage and customary activities could all be relevant at a landscape level. In theory, planning could draw from this rich platter of potentialities, and consult with communities to develop a detailed and holistic understanding of the values in landscapes at a local, regional and national level.

In practice, however, assessment practices are fractionated. In the process of developing the planning documents, local authorities typically engage landscape architects to determine the location outstanding natural features and landscapes, and areas of natural character. Specialists in ecology (often working for DoC) are usually engaged to determine areas of significant indigenous vegetation. Consultation with Maori will determine cultural values and traditions that relate to particular resources. Historic heritage is generally determined primarily on the basis of the places on the NZHPT Register, although some districts also include additional places considered to be of local significance. The resulting schedules of historic heritage in plans consist overwhelmingly of lists of buildings, trees and structures (and in some places clusters of buildings in urban areas).

3 The last two items are recent additions to the list, historic heritage (subsection (f)) having been included in 2004 and customary activities (subsection (g)) in 2005.

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The result of this process is planning documents that approach the management of the wider environment or landscape through the means of largely unrelated chunks of mapped and scheduled information that have been sourced through quite different methods of assessment. The landscape as a whole – and its multiple and interrelated values – is lost and largely unconsidered, and is thus vulnerable to incremental and cumulative change.

Over the past four years there has been a groundswell of concern about the failure of the New Zealand planning system to adequately recognise and protect valued landscapes. Investigating the expansion of urban areas into valued landscapes, the Parliamentary Commissioner for the Environment noted: Of greatest concern to me and my team, it appeared that the planning processes, as they were being applied, were not sufficient to sustain the very characteristics of the landscape and its ecological qualities that most people in the community cherished. I concluded that the planning processes were leading inextricably to death by a thousand cuts (Parliamentary Commissioner for the Environment, 2001: iii).

More recently, the Environmental Defence Society held a national conference to consider the ‘catastrophic loss’ of New Zealand’s special places, …prompted by a growing sense of general unease, of loss and regret, engendered by the nature, rate and scale of some of the changes that are occurring in coastal and high country landscapes [and] also in places like the Waitakere Ranges (Environmental Defence Society, 2003: 227).

The conference proceedings primarily focus on the need to preserve indigenous biodiversity and ‘naturalness’ of landscapes. At around the same time, another landscape-related conference was hosted by the NZ Historic Places Trust entitled the “Heritage Landscapes Think Tank”. This conference was born out of a concern at the lack of recognition of ‘heritage landscapes’, the report of proceedings describing these as: …those landscapes, or networks of sites, which deserve special recognition or protection because of their heritage significance to communities, tangata whenua or the nation. They encompass physical structures and changes made to the environment by people, natural landforms modified by human action, the meanings given to places and the stories told about them (Stephenson 2003(b):2)

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It is notable that the ‘heritage value’ of landscapes at the first conference was predominantly represented by ecological, natural and associated aesthetic values, and at the second predominantly represented by history, meaning and stories in the land. In a sense, this was a classic example of the nature/culture split discussed in Sections 2.3.4 and 2.3.5 above.

A number of other recent conferences and workshops on the theme of landscape recognition and management have contributed to the groundswell of concern. A remarkable diversity of statutory and non-governmental agencies have been involved, with an equally remarkable diversity of participants. Iwi members, community members, landscape architects, archaeologists, historians, planners, environmentalists, anthropologists, ecologists and many others have come together in various fora to discuss a shared concern that is fundamentally about the loss of culturally valued aspects of the landscape. Common themes are emerging in the proceedings and reports (e.g. Parliamentary Commissioner for the Environment 2001 and 2003, Stephenson 2003, Peart 2004, Advisory Committee for Regional Environment 2004, New Zealand Institute of Landscape Architects, 2005). Many of these themes relate to specific techniques about how to improve protection and management, but at a deeper level there is a common recognition that landscapes can be more than their physical features – that located stories, histories and traditions may be as important as the landscape forms. There is also concern that the local significance of landscapes is often overlooked in development decisions, particularly its role in developing and maintaining local and tribal identity. Despite the nature/culture split still apparent in some thinking, there is also a widespread unease at landscape assessments – and planning provisions – which focus on only a single component of landscapes (e.g. ‘naturalness’), and a stated need for approaches that enable an integrated understanding of landscapes’ various values and meanings.

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2.4 Towards an integrated approach

Assessments of ‘natural’ values and ‘cultural heritage’ values arise from very different conceptions of significance. Most disciplines and assessment methods have ranged themselves on one or other side of the nature/culture barrier; assessing, for example, either historic heritage or biodiversity, but not considering both together. Yet cultural- ness and natural-ness are intertwined in all landscapes. Few, if any, landscapes are free of human influence, either directly through human modification or indirectly through human agency (e.g. climate change, introduction of new species) and attributed meaning. The conceptual division between culture and nature is an abstraction that can be traced back to the Enlightenment’s conceptual division between man and the natural world. This division was reinforced by the experiences of European colonisers arriving in the New World from acculturated Europe, who viewed the new lands primarily as undeveloped wilderness (Clarke 2003). Where indigenous people utilised natural resources, this relationship was dismissed, or they were seen as part of nature and therefore savage. Early conservationists shared this view of untrammelled nature. Yellowstone Park, which became the model for national parks internationally, was created through the removal of its native communities in the name of preserving its wildlife and scenery (Phillips 1998). The prevailing view of people opposed to nature was reinforced in the twentieth century by the rise of environmental awareness, which saw people as the ‘problem’ for the integrity of the natural world (Botkin 1995 cited in Perley 2003). Such views were completely at odds with most indigenous world-views which saw people as part of nature – a fundamental difference that continues to be at the base of many development conflicts.

From the natural landscape perspective, there have been recent moves towards greater appreciation of the role of humans in contributing to biodiversity (McNeely and Keeton 1995). Recent research has questioned the assumption of an inverse relationship between presence of people and the richness of nature, as many human-modified landscapes show great biodiversity (Phillips 1998; FAO 2003). Some approaches to assessment are beginning to take this into account. In England, for example, landscape surveys are becoming increasingly multi-faceted, incorporating in some cases biological

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and ecological surveys, parks and garden surveys, archaeological and historic landscape surveys, land-use surveys and historic building surveys (Grenville 1999). The expanding domains of nature conservation and heritage conservation are thus overlapping in landscape.

Contemporary approaches to the preservation of historic landscapes are also beginning to recognise that culture and nature are inextricably linked. At an international level, for example, UNESCO World Heritage Committee previously had separate categories for internationally significant cultural and natural heritage sites. In 1992, the Committee adopted the concept of ‘cultural landscapes’, which accorded the “combined works of nature and man” joint significance (UNESCO 2002:10). The preamble to the European Landscape Convention also emphasises this joint significance, noting that landscape is a basic component of European natural and cultural heritage, and has an important public interest role in the cultural, ecological, environmental and social fields (Council of Europe 2000). An even more integrated view is offered by the Natchitoches Declaration on Heritage Landscapes, which notes: There is a convergence of the natural and cultural values in the landscape, and a growing recognition that the traditional separation of nature and culture is a hindrance to protection and is no longer sustainable. (ICOMOS USA 2004:1)

The growing awareness of the fragility of both cultural diversity and natural diversity is thus finding common ground in the intersection of nature and culture. The predominant themes appear to be the emergence of a post-nature/culture paradigm, and the call for increased connectivity between people and their surroundings at a localised level. Such comprehensive approaches, however, are predominantly being discussed outside of the planning agenda.

2.5 Conclusion

The historical overview revealed that planning theories evolved with relatively little relevance to the recognition of cultural values in landscapes, and certainly with no integrated approach to spatial significance. The main thrust of planning theory shows a lack of connectedness to the landscape matrix, a focus on the future, and an almost

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exclusive interest in the urban environment. But it would be wrong to say that cultural values in landscapes have been altogether ignored. As discussed above, tenuous themes of relevant thinking can be found in some theories from the late nineteenth century, and these particularly emerge during the latter part of the 20th century as stronger but still highly fragmented approaches to community participation, urban design and landscape assessment. What has emerged, however, is that planning lacks a theory or conceptual model that offers an integrated consideration of cultural values in landscapes.

Although planners work within the matrix of landscape and its values, there is a notable lack of a coherent voice on how this matrix should be conceptualised or formally recognised. Within dominant planning theories, a rational, objective analysis of space is offered, but the qualitative aspects of space or landscape are not considered. Other theoretical and methodological frames give some consideration to cultural values, either through encouraging the participation of communities in decision-making, or through using ‘experts’ to identify valued components of landscape. Where planning methodologies incorporate landscape issues, however, the various aspects of landscape in its broad sense are generally compartmentalised. Ecological, historic, scenic and aesthetic values identified from within other disciplinary frameworks may be included in decision-making, but planning theory offers no comprehensive way of thinking about cultural values as a whole, and their spatial manifestations.

Additionally, while landscapes are both rural and urban, planning theories are largely urban theories. Little theoretical interest seems to be taken in landscapes outside of urban and peri-urban areas, and the rural environment has been “sadly under- researched” from a planning perspective (Allmendinger and Chapman 1999:54).

Achieving a holistic understanding of cultural values requires an acceptance of manifold sources of knowledge (both communities and ‘experts’) and multiple forms of knowledge (accepting that knowledge can be both rational and subjective). At a theoretical level, planning has little difficulty with this. Communicative theory in particular accepts that knowledge and reasoning may take different forms. Accordingly,

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planners should have little difficulty in legitimising a broad range of meaning and value drawn from different sources.

Similarly, recognition that ‘place’ can have power or significance to people and communities is theoretically within the scope of planning thought. Participatory, locally responsive approaches, such as communicative planning, support a reorientation of landscape assessment to include more subjective and qualitative experiential approaches. Planning has long given consideration to heritage, ecological and aesthetic values, generally as identified by ‘experts’ in other disciplines. Methodologies that allow community-based meanings to surface are beginning to be explored from different disciplinary perspectives.

However, despite the “veritable deluge of theoretical innovation” relating to space in the social sciences and humanities (Graham and Healey 1999: 627), planning has been slow to pick up on new perspectives of socio-spatiality. Discussions of ‘spatial planning’ arising from England and Europe are primarily focused on understanding the new temporal and spatial configurations of a globalising world, rather than modelling the existing temporal, spatial and meaning-laden aspects of localities. So far, planning theory has largely failed to conceptualise the socio-spatial matrix, and in particular its qualitative values.

Herein lies the fundamental reason for the existence of the research problem. Despite its general receptiveness to new intellectual currents, planning theory has yet to develop an integrated and comprehensive approach to the values and meanings of landscape. Methods of incorporating located meaning and value in decision-making do exist, but are fragmented and are largely adopted from exterior disciplines. Concepts of located qualitative value are poorly developed, and incorporation of culturally diverse values remains problematic.

A few disparate voices in planning literature suggest that it is time that this was rectified. Leonie Sandercock (1998), for example, suggests that planning should adopt a more culturally inclusive approach, including “a recognition of memory, desire and the

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spirit as vital dimensions of human settlements, and a sensitivity to cultural differences in the expressions of each” (p230). Planners need to have a greater awareness that what they do is “make space” rather than just “make plans” (Perry 1995: 223), and more critical attention needs to be placed on conceptualising socio-spatial relations and the multiple meanings of space and time (Graham and Healey 1999). Planners, as synthesisers of information, are well-placed to make a considerable contribution to an improved recognition of landscape’s multiple dimensions. What is missing is a conceptual framework.

Landscape is immensely complex. From the lived-in experience of communities and indigenous groups, to the specialised knowledge bases of numerous disciplines, it is a zone of multiple perspectives and multiple values. In this sense it is unsurprising that planning has so far largely failed to develop a comprehensive approach to the more subjective components of the spatial matrix. Within a wide range of other disciplines, however, a burgeoning interest in the landscape concept has resulted in an abundance of relevant literature. This literature has the potential to be a rich source of inspiration for conceptualising landscape and its values, and will be examined further in Chapters 5 and 6.

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CHAPTER 3

THE RESEARCH DESIGN

3.1 Introduction

This chapter describes the process of development of the research design, the reasoning behind the research design, and the components of the research process. It has been purposely been entitled ‘research design’ rather than ‘methodology’ as a number of different methodologies were incorporated into the research process. The research methodologies used are described in general terms in this chapter – where more detail is necessary, it is described at the start of each relevant chapter.

From the outset, the issue that the research sought to address was how to improve the recognition of cultural values in landscapes in a planning context, and in particular how to advance the recognition of qualitative significance while still giving due recognition to objective and measurable values. The potential complexity of this issue, given the slippery and evolving nature of the core concepts of ‘landscape’ and ‘cultural value’, meant that the research question had to be broad enough to capture a wide range of potential meanings and nuances, while narrow enough to ensure a focused and productive research process.

The initial scoping of the research problem gave rise to the core research question: How can formal and informal ‘knowledge’ about cultural values in the landscape be better understood and linked to the landscape in an integrated way? Worded in this way, the question does not limit the range of potential contributors in determining landscape values, and allows consideration of values that might be expressed both by disciplines and by communities associated with landscapes. The wording of the question focuses on improving understanding of multiple values, and on finding ways of making

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associations between expressed values and the physical forms of the landscape. The question also seeks to find a way of considering values in an integrated way rather than as fragmented and unrelated components. As a whole, the question is framed so as to address the shortcomings perceived in how the planning discipline currently understands and manages landscapes, but is sufficiently open so as to be able to consider other disciplinary interests as well.

This core question remained the same throughout the development of the research design, but the way in which this question was to be addressed was derived from an iterative process, significantly influenced by the outcomes of the literature review and the pilot case study. The most fundamental change was that the research changed focus from the application and refinement of existing planning theory, to the development of theoretical models to address the perceived need for a way of conceptualising landscape values.

3.2 Theoretical influences on the research design

The research design occurred within the humanist, post-modern and phenomenological framework outlined in Chapter 1. These theoretical positions influenced the choice of methodology, the methods of analysis, and the evaluation of the case study findings. Further guidance was provided by the work of Manuel Castells (1983), Edward Relph (1976) and the grounded theory advocated by Glaser and Strauss (1967).

Castells’ work, which set out to develop a theory of urban social movements, is particularly helpful in his explicit and painstaking exploration of his methodological problem - how to construct theory from case studies. Rather than base his models on some pre-adopted theory, Castells sought to develop them out of the case study research itself. This has strong parallels with the desired approach here. Castells’ starting point was to ask some fundamental research questions at a very general tentative level, adopting concepts and approaches from a variety of different intellectual traditions. He then developed a provisional theoretical framework, and on the basis of this identified

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some specific case studies that would provide the information required to test and further develop the theory (pp339-395).

Castells’ case studies were chosen specifically to support his identified research needs. Having chosen relevant places and problems to study, he used a wide range of research methods, arguing that “all research tools are legitimate and useful when they remain tools at the service of the research process” (p341). The interview process took a “clear, unambiguous and non-manipulatory attitudes towards the subjects of our observation”, and within these limits used “every means possible to learn in detail what actually happened” (p341).

Although he does not make explicit reference to it, Castells’ research approach is in many ways akin to grounded theory. From its origins in the work of Glaser and Strauss (1967), grounded theory has been used in the social sciences to guide the development of theory from research data. Its aim is to discover patterns and concepts that account for the research situation as conveyed by the data. Its approach is explicitly inductive and emergent, in that theory is developed directly from data during research, rather than using a logico-deductive approach based on an existing theory. A combination of both qualitative and quantitative data may be used, and the emergence of theory may be facilitated by the use of different types of data (Glaser and Strauss 1967). Glaser in particular argues against the forcing of research findings into pre-existing theoretical moulds, and proposes that literature should be used in much the same way as other data to contribute to theory development (Glaser 1992).

These ideas were strongly influential on my research design. The nature of the research question, and the overarching theoretical position in which the research process was posited, meant that there was a direct and comfortable fit with a grounded approach to theory development. Castells’ use of specific case studies to provide data for the generation and confirmation of a provisional theory also aligned well with the need to ensure that people’s shared experience and signification of the landscape was fed into the model-making process.

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The design of the research was also influenced in a fundamental way by understandings gleaned from the work of Edward Relph. As briefly touched on in Chapter 1, Relph (1976) undertook an examination of the nature of ‘place’ through seeking to understand people’s experience of the lived-world, rather than through the application or development of abstract models or theories. Using a phenomenological perspective, Relph explored the “profound psychological links between people and the places which they live in and experience” (preface). In his work, having considered the nature of people’s experience of place, and concluded that the essence of place lies in: “the experience of an ‘inside’ that is distinct from an ‘outside’… […] From the outside you look upon a place as a traveller might look upon a town from a distance; from the inside you experience a place, are surrounded by it and part of it. The inside-outside division thus presents itself as a simple but basic dualism” (Relph, 1976: 49).

Williams (1973) also differentiates between ‘insiders’ and ‘outsiders’ - insiders being those for whom a given place or landscape is a lived-in, everyday, embedded experience, and outsiders being those who ‘view’ a landscape from outside and whose experience of the landscape is fleeting or uni-dimensional (e.g. experts, agencies, investors and tourists). Such a sharp inside/outside distinction is difficult to sustain because the two views are not mutually exclusive (Hirsch 1995), but the concept is nevertheless a useful generalisation to indicate the poles of landscape experience. In his analysis, Relph moves away from a clear-cut duality, and presents the reader with an array or continuum of types of ‘outsideness’ and ‘insideness’ in relation to place (pp51- 55). In brief, these consist of - existential outsideness (reflective uninvolvement, where different places are only distinguishable by their superficial qualities) - objective outsideness (deliberate adoption of a dispassionate attitude towards places, such as may be used in a scientific study of an area) - incidental outsideness (the largely unselfconscious attitude in which places are merely the background or setting for activities, such as the experience of a traveller) - vicarious insideness (the experience of deeply felt involvement with places that can arise from reading books or seeing art without actually visiting the place)

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- behavioural insideness (being in a place and being attentive to its appearance, objects, and views) - empathetic insideness (a willingness to be open to the significance of place – to feel it, know it and respect its symbols) - existential insideness (to experience a place a completely as we can, where place is full of significance but without deliberate or selfconscious reflection (Relph 1976: 49-55)

These categories proved to be extremely helpful in shaping the research design, and in determining the relative positioning of both the researcher and the researched in the research process. In particular, the category of ‘existential insideness’ had a strong concurrence with my intention to examine the cultural values held by those who lived within a given landscape, and the category of ‘objective outsideness’ was at least partly reflective of the more objective and generalised values that might be imputed to landscapes by disciplinary specialists. Additionally, in carrying out my research with insiders, I aimed to be open to understanding the significance of place – in other words, to be an ‘empathetic insider’.

3.3 Development of the research design

Before describing the research components, it is necessary to explain how the overall format of the research design was developed. This section discusses in general terms the nature of the research, the scope of the research, and what sources of information were chosen to develop and test the models. A more detailed discussion about the purpose and design of the case studies follows.

3.3.1 The nature of the research

It had initially been assumed that the research would primarily be based within an existing planning theory, and would seek, through application to case studies, to develop improved methodologies for recognising cultural values in landscapes.

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The outcomes of the review of planning literature necessitated a change to this approach. Firstly, it became clear that it would not be possible to carry out the research within an existing planning framework, because of the absence of an integrated conceptual framework for landscape within its body of theory. Secondly, the review revealed that the variety of approaches which inform planners about landscape arise from numerous theoretical streams within and outside of planning. In order to comprehend the totality of thinking about landscape, the research would therefore need to move outside of the planning schema and review a broader range of literature. In a figurative sense, the research would need to span the void in planning literature by weaving conceptual support from the contributions of other disciplines with an interest in landscape.

Together, these factors changed the realm of the research design. When it became clear that the critical issue to be addressed was the lack of a conceptual model, the research design changed focus to the development of a framework or theory to fill the conceptual void. This meant that the core question of the thesis was to be addressed at a conceptual rather than an applied level.

In seeking to improve understanding of the values of landscapes, a conceptual model would need to be developed that would offer a structure for considering values in an ordered and comprehensive way. In seeking to link expressed values to the physical landscape, a further model would be needed that could represent the dimensions of landscape and that had the potential for practical application. The research focus therefore changed to the development of two linked theoretical models that would address the research question.

The early stages of the study thus re-shaped the research design from an applied approach to one which was focused on the development of theory. Sarantakos (1993) suggests that a theory is “a set of systematically tested and logically interrelated propositions that have been developed through research and that explain social phenomena” (p9). He suggests that the construction of theory requires a systematic

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approach. The first step is to develop concepts that classify or name key elements. These concepts are then analysed, tested and classified into systems or categories. Propositions are then made as to the relationships between concepts. Finally, the propositions are built into a theory, which is a set of logically interrelated propositions, presented in a systematic way and capable of being tested and modified.

While the research process ultimately followed these steps, much of the theory development arose in an iterative way from the synergy of simultaneous data collection and analysis. The initial uncertainties created by the conceptual void meant that it was not possible to design the process of theory construction quite as systematically as proposed by Sarantakos. The theory development did not occur as a tidy and preconceived set of sequential steps, but rather as an evolving series of insights. Throughout the process, room was left for new and providential discoveries and directions. Davidson and Tolich (1999) are supportive of such ‘anarchic’ research design, particularly in relation to an inductive approach as was used here. Reflecting Gee's (1999) comment that “the quality of research often resides in how fruitful our mistakes are” (p9), this approach left room for error, reconsideration and insight.

The primary focus of the research process was to develop theoretical models, so it was necessary to devise an approach whereby key concepts could be drawn from the data. Rather than simply being concerned with the knowledge itself, the evolution of a theoretical framework required a focus on the relationships between the different forms of knowledge. Given the multiple interests in landscape, and the desire to develop an integrated framework with potential inter-disciplinary relevance, the research needed to capture not only the range of meanings implicit in landscape, but also the key approaches and models currently used within the relevant disciplines. By drawing on parallels and synergies, it was hoped that the resulting framework would have cross- disciplinary relevance as well as potential relevance to non-western approaches to landscape.

It needs to be made clear here that the aim of the research was not to set out to determine the relative significance of values, but rather to find a way of modelling

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values-as-a-whole. In the planning context, comparative evaluation is necessary tool – and planning has a raft of evaluation methodologies – but is only a step in a decision- making process in which the previous step is comprehensive understanding. The place of the model in the decision-making process was intended to inform the latter. The purpose of the research, therefore, was to develop models to generate the comprehensive understanding that, in planning practice, is the necessary precursor to informed evaluation and decision-making.

3.3.2 The scope of the research

In determining the scope of the research, a dilemma was created by the evolving and slippery meaning of ‘landscape’. A decision had to be made to either choose a predetermined disciplinary approach to landscape (and thus limit what might be considered to be a ‘cultural value’), or to approach the research question with a completely open mind on the meaning of landscape and its potential range of values.

In the early stages of the research process, it was intended to focus the research on highly valued cultural landscapes (‘heritage landscapes’), given that these are often considered to be under greatest threat from development. A change to a more open approach was strongly influenced by the outcomes of the pilot study (Bannockburn case study) which took place very early in the research process. As will be described in more detail in Chapter 4, this study involved interviews of community members about what was important to them about their landscape. The approach taken was that the landscape of the Bannockburn area had particularly significant historic values, and the terms ‘heritage landscape’ and ‘heritage’ were used in the interview questions.

The outcomes of the interviews were surprising and reinforced the need to avoid preconceptions. It had been assumed that the interviewees’ responses would focus primarily on what was valued about the notable historic heritage visible in the landscape. The responses, however, were far broader than expected. Respondents spoke of a wide range of aspects of landscape that were important to them, including natural features, sensory responses, stories, meanings, myth and practices. Analysis of

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the responses revealed a far richer concept of ‘landscape’ than had been anticipated, and certainly far broader than encompassed within current models of ‘heritage landscapes’. Two things became clear. Firstly, the landscape values that were important to a community did not necessarily have an easy fit with any single model or theory of landscape. Secondly, insiders’ attachments to landscape did not have an easy fit with concepts of ‘heritage’ or any other descriptor.

The review of multi-disciplinary literature, which occurred more or less simultaneously with the pilot case study, also influenced the change in approach. Initially, reading had concentrated on concepts of ‘heritage landscapes’ and ‘cultural landscapes’, but as the literature review became wider, it became apparent that these phrases were self-limiting and, in the case of ‘cultural landscapes’, subject to multiple interpretations. As the nature of the fundamental research problem became clearer, it was also apparent that the problems of landscape management were not limited to ‘special’ landscapes but were universal to all landscapes.

Accordingly, it was decided to assume a ‘blank slate’ as to the potential meanings and values of landscape. Instead of approaching the research question from the point of view of ‘heritage’ or ‘cultural’ landscape, or indeed any preconceived notion of landscape, it was decided to (as far as possible) suspend pre-judgement. Rather than assume that the meanings and values of ‘landscape’ are a particular set of forms or attributes, it was decided to allow this to be determined by the aggregate of formal and informal knowledge about landscapes. The research focus accordingly changed to ‘cultural values in landscapes’, recognising that any landscape may have cultural values. This approach also helped to avoid a conceptual capture by any pre-existing categorisation of landscape. The issue thus became how to design a research net broad enough to discover the range of types of formal and informal cultural values that might be expressed about landscapes.

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3.3.3 Sources of information

As stated in Chapter 1, cultural values are taken to be values that are shared by a group or community or are given legitimacy through a socially accepted way of assigning value. Cultural values are a human construct, and the primary form of information on such values is of a descriptive nature. The information to drive the research would necessarily be qualitative, but would need to be approached in an analytical way in order to generate the desired theoretical models. As touched on in Chapter 1, this normative approach meant that all of the information garnered, whether it was from literature or case studies, was seen as contributing to an understanding of the whole rather than any single form of knowledge being dominant in its own right.

Deciding what sources of information would be used to drive the research process involved consideration of how cultural values are generated and expressed. In relation to heritage features, de la Torre (2002) suggest that cultural significance should be determined by the aggregate of values attributed to it, including those held by experts and those expressed by stakeholders or constituents. An inclusive approach to cultural values, therefore, accepts that values can include meaning and significance attributed by both lay people and experts. A similar approach was used by Swaffield (1991) who examined the meaning of the word ‘landscape’ and how it is used by contemporary decision-makers. He used different methods of analysis to reveal different dimensions of meaning, and thus provide a more complete understanding. His research showed that landscape meaning can legitimately be approached from multiple perspectives, which can be combined to produce a comprehensive view, or presented as contrasting frames.

It was decided to use a similar blank-slate approach, accepting that a range of formal and informal sources of knowledge need to be explored in order to generate a comprehensive view of cultural values in landscapes. Formal knowledge was taken to be that expressed by disciplines with an interest in aspects of landscape. Informal knowledge was taken to be that expressed by communities and culture groups with an interest in a particular landscape, and was largely garnered through primary research carried out in two case studies, and enhanced by literature relating to the relationships

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between two indigenous groups and their landscapes. The resulting information was treated as a data set from which generalisations and conclusions could be drawn in the process of theory construction.

The decision to focus on both formal and informal knowledge had an unexpected and interesting synergy with Relph’s (1976) ‘objective outsideness’ and ‘existential insideness’. Relph describes objective outsideness as “The deliberate adoption of a dispassionate attitude towards places in order to consider them selectively in terms of their locations or as spaces where objects and activities are located … places are changed from facts of immediate experience into things having certain attributes…” (p51).

Clearly, not all formal (discipline-based) approaches to understanding landscape are necessarily objective. Many deliberately adopt an interpretive or empathetic approach as part of their methodology. However the ‘outsideness’ will generally remain, except in those rare cases where a disciplinary specialist is simultaneously an ‘insider’ and/or is prepared to move outside of his or her disciplinary frame. ‘Outsideness’, therefore, is at least partly reflective of the more objective and generalised values that might be imputed to landscapes by disciplinary specialists.

For Relph’s insiders, on the other hand, “place is experienced without deliberate and selfconscious reflection yet is full with significances … [as] most people experience when they are at home and in their own town or region, when they know the place and its people and are known and accepted there” (p55). The experience and perceptions of a landscape to its insiders is ‘informal’ in the sense that it is not pre-structured according to an exterior set of rules, but arises from the engagement of people with their surroundings over time. To gain an understanding of this relationship, it would clearly be necessary to carry out fieldwork in a case study setting, where people lived and engaged with their immediate environment.

The main source of information for developing an understanding of formal ‘objective outsider’ knowledge was the literature of the many disciplines with an interest in landscape. Because of the many disciplines with an interest in landscape, a wide array of literature would need to be reviewed in order to discover the range of understandings

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of landscape, the meaning and significance given to landscape, and the ways in which landscape-related information is conveyed. Such a multi-disciplinary approach involved moving outside of the security offered by a single discipline and accepting the potential pitfalls of drawing on relatively unknown disciplines and other world-views. The main potential weakness was that this aspect of the research would be broad but shallow, as the key constituents of each discipline could only be briefly scoped. It was considered, however, that a compensatory strength would be in gaining a broad platform of understanding across disciplines and worldviews – an understanding that appears to be largely lacking in the literature.

Davidson and Tolich (1999) propose that validity in social research is strengthened by the use of multiple research methods to hone in on an issue from various angles, using multiple sources of information, methods, theories and techniques. Validity is achieved when data can be logically integrated from different sources into a single, consistent interpretation. The research process was designed to use a wide range of information sources, from case studies, multiple disciplines, and indigenous groups. This provided the opportunity to triangulate the data, and to check findings from different sources for consistency. As long as the results were reliable, and observations and understandings across disciplines and worldviews reinforced one another, it was considered that the cross-disciplinary research would develop models with more extensive relevance than could be offered from a single disciplinary position.

3.4 Overview of the research process

While the primary research question remained the same, the iterative process of the research in the early stages resulted in a change of focus from applied research to the building of theoretical models. In order to develop models which had as wide an application as possible, a ‘blank slate’ approach was taken with regard to how meanings and values in landscapes might be expressed. The research also sought to incorporate the multiple ways in which disciplines, indigenous groups and communities express value in landscape.

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To address the multiple facets of the research question in a structured way, it was necessary to break the question down into a number of simple components, which together could address the question as a whole. Accordingly, the core question was first broken down into two related sub-questions to be addressed through the research. These were: 1. What range and nature of cultural values are expressed about landscapes by both formal and informal sources? 2. How can landscapes be conceptualised so as to usefully create links between expressed values and the landscape?

The first question focuses on the information-gathering process, and the second on the model-building process. The second is dependent on the first, in that it is only by developing a knowledge base of the nature and range of cultural values that these values can be conceived of in a holistic way. From an interpretive perspective, the parts of landscape value must be understood before any conclusions can be drawn about the nature of the whole and the interrelationships between the parts.

As alluded to in Chapter 1, a primary goal of the research process, which is captured in the first sub-question, was to seek to understand the nature of the relationships between ‘insiders’ and the landscapes that they relate strongly to (in Relph’s terms, the ‘existential insideness’ of place). Case studies were chosen as the best method of achieving this goal. Case studies allow in-depth analysis of a particular situation. They provide the opportunity for the researcher to develop a relatively comprehensive understanding of the issue at hand, by drawing on both contextual data as well as interviews with those who are actors within the context. In terms of Sub-question 1, case studies would be an ideal way to understand the significance of a particular landscape to it particular community – its existential insiders.

An argument against the use of case studies could be that their very specificity precludes any generalisations and therefore any utility to the development of theory. But does an understanding of the singular relationships in a bounded area preclude any

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extrapolation of the findings? Castells (1983) would certainly disagree. He noted that from an historical perspective, all social situations are unique, and thus so are the findings of any empirical research, regardless of the method used. He also argued that the value of any observation depends on its linkage with the purpose of the work. In using case studies, he suggested that first “…we must observe unique situations in which a particular phenomenon, considered by our theory to be crucial, is amplified” (p xx). Having obtained a grounded theory based on case studies, the researcher then has the basis for comparison with other potential study areas. “Thus, while case studies cannot provide a systematic verification of established propositions, they are invaluable in the path-breaking effort of generating new theories” (p xx). In this light, the use of case studies to draw on the understandings of existential insiders can be justified because they would provide crucial information about unique phenomena. This could then be drawn on to develop theory, which could subsequently be tested back against the case studies themselves and, at some future time, against other unique situations.

Before proceeding to describe the development of the research design in more detail, a brief overview of the design is offered so that it can be conceived of as a whole, and so that the place of the case studies in the overall process can be understood (see Fig. 1). In brief, each of the two sub-questions was addressed via three further questions, which were called the ‘research components’. These were as follows:

Sub-question 1: What range and nature of cultural values are expressed about landscapes by both formal and informal sources? Research component 1: What is the nature and range of values expressed by a community about its landscape? Research component 2: What values are expressed by disciplines? Research component 3: What values are expressed in other cultural world- views?

Sub-question 2: How can landscapes be conceptualised so as to usefully create links between expressed values and the landscape?

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Research component 4: What approaches have been taken to developing inter- disciplinary or holistic models? Research component 5: What approaches have been taken to modelling the dimensions of landscape? Research component 6: Are the models useful when applied to a valued landscape?

These components were the fundamental elements of the research process. The relationship between the research questions, the research components, and the sources of information used to address the research components are illustrated in Figure 1. The research components are described in detail in Sections 3.5 and 3.6.

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FIGURE 1: The research design

Sub-questions 1 and 2 are shown at left. The six research components run down the centre of the diagram, fed by primary research (green, left hand side) and secondary research (pink, right hand side). The models (yellow) develop from the research process and are tested at research component 6.

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Except where it is otherwise stated, the research components did not necessarily occur sequentially, and, frequently, several components proceeded simultaneously. This allowed for a free cross-flow of information between the components, as ideas and models were developed.

3.5 Research design for Sub-Question 1:

To recap, the core research question was: How can formal and informal ‘knowledge’ about cultural values in the landscape be better understood and linked to the landscape in an integrated way? The first sub-question was: What range and nature of cultural values are expressed about landscapes by both formal and informal sources?

Formal sources of cultural value were taken to be those disciplines which are involved in identifying, assessing and/or evaluating aspects of the landscape. While attributions of significance by experts from a particular discipline are commonly considered to be ‘facts’, values are implicit within any statement of ‘knowledge’ (Davidson and Tolich 1999). As noted earlier, the research design adopts a normative approach, accepting that objectivity is unattainable, as values direct all thoughts, choices and actions. In relation to disciplinary contributions to understanding landscape significance, it is assumed that all statements of fact imply a discipline-sourced value.

The implication of value becomes particularly relevant when planning or landscape management decisions are made, and ‘expert’ sources of information are used to determine significance. Cultural value is also mediated by agencies such as government-based organisations and non-governmental organisations, which commonly use discipline-based attributions of significance.

Expert-based determinations of significance largely reflect the dominant world-view, and therefore to some extent they can be assumed to reflect what ‘ordinary’ people will also value (e.g. places of high ecological value, historic places). However a disciplinary focus is unlikely to capture the values that are held by people closely associated with a place – the meanings as they are actually lived. Most assessments of public responses to

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landscape have been carried out through ‘expert’ approaches that assess the generic responses of people to landscape types, using methods such as preference scoring. As discussed in Chapter 2, far less work has been done on the nature of the attachments between people and the landscape that they live in or associate with (Dakin 2003). Yet it is such place-based values that largely contribute to meaning, identity and ‘sense of place’ – the loss of which are key factors in the research problem.

It was therefore decided that the research on ‘informal’ sources of knowledge about cultural values would focus on values held by people associated with specific landscapes. Such localised values may well include preference for generic landscape features such as ‘naturalness’ or ‘water’, but are also likely to include a broad sweep of other values that arise from localised associations such as residence, work, spiritual meaning, and family links. The research would therefore seek to discover the range of types of values that might be expressed by Relph’s ‘existential insiders’ about their landscape.

Initially, consideration was also given to whether research should also be carried out on ‘incidental outsider’ values such as might be expressed by visitors or tourists. Literature in this area indicted that visitor responses have been widely studied through disciplines such as landscape architecture and tourism (e.g. Fairweather, Swaffield, and Simmons 1998, Fairweather and Swaffield 2002, Timothy and Boyd 2003). It was considered that cultural values or preferences in these regards would be well conveyed through the disciplinary literature, and that a separate research component to capture visitor response to landscape would not be required. The reported findings of such studies are considered to be part of the ‘formal’ body of expressions of cultural value.

The design also needed to take into account the fact that cultural values may well arise from indigenous cultures as well as western-derived cultures. Western-based disciplines and assessment methodologies may not necessarily be sensitive or open to values based in quite different world-views. In New Zealand, for example, the indigenous Māori have had a long association with landscapes, so that they have become woven with localised mythology, genealogy and tribal histories (Ka'ai et al.

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2004). Māori ‘existential insider’ views of landscape are fundamental to personal and tribal identity, and remain even where individuals may no longer reside within the particular landscape. It was decided that non-western values could be researched in two ways – through studying the relevant literature, and through ensuring that indigenous views were represented in the two case studies. Both methods were incorporated into the research design.

Given that the research was designed to bring together and analyse knowledge from a variety of sources, it would have been possible to spend a great deal of time on epistemological questions such as ‘Whose knowledge is given preference in determining cultural values?’ ‘What knowledge is legitimate under any given world- view?’ or ‘Does it matter why particular values are attributed to the landscape, or is the information enough in itself?’ Tempting though it was, it was decided that to examine such questions in any depth would involve side-tracking the research process. Thus a fundamental premise of the methodology was that all forms of knowledge about cultural values in the landscape may have legitimacy. While different world-views and landscape-related theories were canvassed, this was to assist in understanding the range of meanings and values rather than to enter into any deep consideration of the nature of knowledge.

It was concluded that an inclusive approach to cultural values in landscapes would require consideration of the meanings attributed by communities and indigenous groups for whom the landscape is a ‘lived-in’ experience as well as those attributed by relevant disciplines. This required that the research would need to encompass three sources of value-based information. Firstly, it would be necessary to determine the values held by communities that have close links with a specific landscape. This would potentially include residents and others (including indigenous people) who had particularly close associations with the place. Secondly, it would be important to understand the values expressed by disciplines that are involved in generating landscape-related information. Thirdly, the research would also need to incorporate landscape-related values expressed in non-western cultures.

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These became the three research components used to address sub-question 1: 1. What is the nature and range of values expressed by a community about its landscape? 2. What values are expressed by disciplines? 3. What values are expressed in other cultural world-views? The method used to undertake each of these research components is described below.

3.5.1 Research Component 1: Values held by communities

This research component sought to answer the question: What is the nature and range of values expressed by a community about its landscape?

The range and forms of ‘existential insider’ values in the landscape were explored through the two case studies, in Bannockburn and Akaroa, both located in the South Island of New Zealand (see Figure 2).

FIGURE 2: Location of the Bannockburn and Akaroa case studies

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As discussed earlier, the case studies had somewhat different designs, occurred at the two ends of the research process, and had different roles. In particular, Bannockburn was a pilot study which fed into the research design and the development of the models, whereas Akaroa was used to test the models. Both case studies, however, provided invaluable data on the nature and range of insider values. A discussion of the case study design is contained in Section 3.7 below, while the details of the research process in each case study are reported in Chapter 4 (for Bannockburn) and Chapter 8 (for Akaroa).

3.5.2 Research Component 2: Values expressed by disciplines

This research component addressed the question: What values are expressed by disciplines? The aim of this component was to establish the nature and range of values expressed by disciplines with an interest in landscape.

An initial scoping exercise was carried out to determine the main disciplines that interest themselves in some aspect of landscape. These included geography, archaeology, architecture, urban design, landscape ecology, human ecology, historical ecology, cultural anthropology, ethnology, sociology, psychology, philosophy, art history, environmental psychology, theology, environmental history, landscape history, nature conservation and heritage conservation. Literature generated by these disciplines was reviewed to determine what aspects of ‘landscape’ they had an interest in, and the range of meanings and values relating to landscape that they implicitly or explicitly expressed.

Although this could be considered a multi-disciplinary literature review, it was also part of the research process. The review not only established current thinking in this area, but was also an essential source of data that contributed to an overall understanding of landscape value. The outcomes of this review contributed in a major way to the development of the theoretical models. The findings of this research component are reported in Chapter 5.

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3.5.3 Research Component 3: Values expressed by indigenous cultures

The third research component addressed the question: What values are expressed in other cultural world-views?

The aim of this component was to review how non-western cultures conceptualise landscapes. The disciplines described in the previous section are founded in western- world views, and thus predominantly convey western understandings of landscape and its values. Taking a ‘blank slate’ approach involved casting the net as wide as possible, and attempting to ensure that the models that would be developed from the data could have potential application to both western and non-western approaches. Some aspects of a non-western worldview would be picked up through the case studies in the interviews of Māori community members, but it was considered important to also draw a more detailed picture of different world-views than would be obtainable through interview data. It was also desirable that more that one non-western worldview was portrayed, to allow for more generalised conclusions to be reached.

Accordingly, this component used existing written sources of information about landscape concepts held by two indigenous peoples - Māori in New Zealand, and Aboriginal Australians. Indigenous languages construct meaning-worlds which are particular to that culture and are not directly translatable to the English language. For a European researcher, accessing indigenous concepts requires doing so through the medium of translations that do not necessarily convey the depth and breadth of concepts implicit in the original language. Accepting this limitation of the double barrier of language and culture, the research in this area attempted to understand indigenous concepts through the available literature

Where possible, sources written by indigenous people themselves were used. The review sought to discover indigenous meanings of ‘landscape’ or its equivalent, how this fits within the cultural world-view, what aspects of landscapes are valued, and how significance is determined and expressed. As with the disciplinary reviews, this

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research could not be carried out in depth, and so represents a scoping of indigenous approaches rather than a detailed appraisal.

The outcomes of this research component are incorporated in Chapter 5.

3.6 Research design for Sub-Question 2:

The second part of the research was aimed at developing a conceptual framework to assist in understanding cultural values in landscapes and in linking values to the landscape. This part focused on the second sub-question: How can landscapes be conceptualised so as to usefully create links between expressed values and the landscape?

As introduced in Section 3.3.1 and shown in Figure 1, this stage of the research process aimed to culminate in two models: one that could represent the range of cultural values expressed about the landscape (eventually called the Cultural Values Model), and another that could assist in linking values to landscape elements (eventually called the Dimension Landscape Model). The first model was intended to offer a conceptual framework, while the second was intended as an applied model.

The cultural values information from the first three research components provided a rich source of inspiration for the approach to be taken in developing the models. In addition, however, the development of these models required further research into the literature of landscape-related disciplines to discover what models already existed relating to landscape and its values. The following further research components therefore needed to be addressed: 4. What approaches have been taken in developing inter-disciplinary or holistic models of landscape? 5. What approaches have been taken to modelling the dimensions of landscape? 6. Are the models valid and useful when applied to a valued landscape? These research components are described below.

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3.6.1 Research component 4: Inter-disciplinary and holistic models

One of the issues identified in the planning literature review was the lack of models that offer a holistic or integrated understanding of landscape and its values. The fourth research component examined the literature of landscape-related disciplines, to see what inter-disciplinary or holistic models of landscape were already in use outside of the planning discipline. In keeping with the need to look beyond western views of landscape, the review also encompassed some Māori and Aboriginal conceptual models of landscape.

This information, together with the conclusions of the first three research components, was used to develop the Cultural Values Model. This conceptual model of cultural values was built from analysis of the data gathered from the Bannockburn case study, the reviews of disciplinary literature, and the literature on indigenous world-views. Its format was influenced by the common conceptual threads identified in these sources.

The outcomes of this research component are contained within Chapter 6.

3.6.2 Research component 5: Dimensional models

The fifth research component asked: What approaches have been taken to modelling the dimensions of landscape? It was designed to guide the development of the second model, ultimately called the Dimensional Landscape Model. The research for this component sought to discover the range of ways in which landscape significance is conveyed through physical or representative modelling techniques.

Once again, the source of information was the literature of various disciplines, and descriptions of Māori and Aboriginal ‘local’ models. The analysis sought to discover if common themes existed between these different approaches and whether these could be built on to develop a model that had integrative possibilities.

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The Dimensional Landscape Model evolved conceptually from the Cultural Values Model, but was crucially different in that it sought to offer a way to convey the ways in which cultural values are linked to the physical landscape.

The outcomes of this process are written up in Chapter 7.

3.6.3 Research Component 6: Testing the models

Following development of the models, the final stage of the research was to test their usefulness and validity. This research component asked: Are the models valid and useful when applied to a valued landscape?

Gee (1999) suggests that validity does not rest in how one tool of enquiry works on its own, but in how well tools of enquiry work together. He proposes that a valid methodology should be able to cope with a wide range of data, work on new sources of data, and that the outcomes should show agreement with other sources of data. Davidson and Tolich (1999) similarly propose that validity is achieved when a consistent interpretation can be offered of data from various sources or from different groups of subjects. Validity also relates to whether the models achieved the objectives sought by the research process.

The usefulness of the Cultural Values Model and the Dimensional Landscape Model were assessed through their application to the Akaroa findings. This is written up in Chapter 8.

The Akaroa case study was also used to assess the validity of the models. As mentioned in Section 3.5.1, the Akaroa findings were compared with those from the Bannockburn case study to check whether a similar range of values was expressed. The validity of the generalised ‘data set’ of values expressed by communities attached to landscapes was also checked by comparing it to the range of values expressed by disciplines and through indigenous world-views. The outcomes are discussed in Chapter 8.

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The validity of the models as theory also needed to be considered. The six components of the research design offer a robust approach to the steps of theory construction proposed by Sarantakos (1993), as discussed in Section 3.3.1. As shown diagrammatically in Figure 3, the research into multiple forms of landscape-related knowledge and value (components 1-3) was used to develop concepts and classify these concepts into categories. The research into disciplinary and non-western models of landscape and its values (components 4-5) was used to assist with classification, the development of propositions and the building of theory. The testing of the theory was achieved through the Akaroa case study (component 6). In Chapter 9, this process is reflected on, and consideration given to whether the models are effective as theory.

FIGURE 3: The contribution of the six research components to the steps of theory-building

Finally, the validity and usefulness of the research findings were assessed according to the research aim and objectives. This is also discussed in Chapter 9.

3.7 The case studies

Many potential pitfalls are implicit in using case studies within a research process. For a start, many choices need to be made - the choice of case study area, the choice of respondents and the choice of questions – and these need to be justifiable. The position

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of the researcher comes under question – how do they see their role, and how will they use the information? Questions arise regarding the recording of data and its subsequent analysis. How can there be certainty that what participants say is, firstly, understood and, secondly, interpreted in light of that understanding? Ethical questions arise as to the level of awareness that interviewees might have as to how the data is to be used, and whether the use of some data might be exploitative. This becomes particularly sensitive when interviews are undertaken within a culture with which the interviewer is unfamiliar. Additionally, questions arise as to how the resulting material is evaluated and presented – does it accurately represent what interviewees have said, both as individuals and as a whole, and, accordingly, can the conclusions drawn from the material be said to have validity? This section of the chapter will focus on these broad questions.

The specific research process used in each case study is reported in Chapter 4, section 4.3 (for the Bannockburn case study) and Chapter 8, section 8.4 (for the Akaroa case study).

3.7.1 The role of the case studies

The two case studies were designed to discover what cultural values were held by those who had particular attachments to a specific landscape. For the development of models, it was important to be able to capture as wide a range of expressions of value as possible. By focusing on particular locations it was hoped to gain an understanding of cultural value that went beyond identification of generic preferences for landscape types, and captured cultural associations that build up over time. From a phenomenological perspective, the case studies sought to provide an understanding of the lived experience of the insiders of the chosen case study areas. This information would then be analysed as part of the theory-building and theory-testing process.

While the case studies sought to understand the particular relationships between people and their landscape, the resulting information was intended to be used to generate general concepts. A careful approach was needed here, given the blank-slate approach,

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as it would be possible to get lost in a morass of information. Useful guidance is offered by Stake (2000), who differentiates between ‘instrumental’ case studies that seek to facilitate understanding and to provide insight into an issue, and ‘intrinsic’ case studies where the interest lies in the particular case study (p437). The case studies were designed to be primarily instrumental, in the sense that the data was to be used to facilitate understanding of the nature and range of cultural values that might be generally expressed in relation to a landscape, rather than to illustrate particular relationships in the case study areas. It should be noted however that the Bannockburn study also gave rise to a separate published report (unrelated to the thesis) that focused on intrinsic issues relating to that landscape (Stephenson, Bauchop, and Petchey 2004).

Unlike most research projects, however, the case studies were not designed to be identical in format. The studies occurred at different ends of the research process. As already touched on, the Bannockburn study occurred early in the research process. As a pilot study, it ‘tested the water’ as to what range and type of values might be expressed by a community about its landscape. As discussed, the study was undertaken within the conceptual frame of a ‘heritage landscape’ and community members were interviewed about the values that they held relating to their ‘heritage landscape’. The analysis of the interviews revealed a far wider range of values than had been expected, and this information fuelled the change in direction already mentioned. The outcomes also made a major contribution to the development of the first model – the Cultural Values Model.

In comparison, the Akaroa case study occurred toward the end of the research process, and had two purposes. The first purpose was to compare the findings about the nature and range of cultural values against the Bannockburn findings. This was necessary in order to check the validity and consistency of the findings. The second purpose was to test the usefulness of the two models developed in the thesis – the Cultural Values Model and the Dimensional Landscape Model. As with Bannockburn, the interviews sought to discover what was valued about the landscape, but the questions were even more open-ended in order to avoid any impression of interviewer bias as to what might be considered to be significant about the landscape.

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Unlike many research projects, therefore, the case studies were not designed to replicate one another, but had quite different functions at different ends of the research process.

3.7.2 The choice of case study areas

It is a ‘given’ of the methodology that the concept of landscape incorporates both urban and rural landscapes, and it would have been possible (and interesting) to carry out a case study in urban situations. The decision to focus on landscapes that were predominantly rural (but containing small settlements) was based on four main premises – firstly, that rural landscapes under pressure of change would offer greater scope for expression of cultural values than urban areas; secondly, that Māori cultural values would be more likely to be present in relatively unmodified landscapes; thirdly, that models developed at the larger scale offered by a rural study would be more likely to be amenable to application at a smaller urban scale than vice versa; and fourthly, that rural-based research would help to counter the current emphasis of planning theory on urban issues.

The choice of case study areas was guided by a preference for landscapes that were distinctive, had recognised cultural values, and had a resident community that was likely to have developed strong ‘existential insider’ connections with the landscape. Bannockburn has a history relating to extensive gold-mining in the nineteenth century, and is located in a high-country setting. Akaroa has a significant Māori history as well as relatively early European settlement, and is also widely known for its natural beauty. Both areas have a residential community, and tangata whenua (Māori ‘people of the land’) still retain links with the land. Additionally, both landscapes were known to be undergoing relatively rapid modification from influxes of newcomers and land use changes. For this reason, insiders would be more likely to be aware of the potential or actual alterations to aspects of the landscape, and thus, it was reasoned, more likely to be consciously aware of what it was they cared about.

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3.7.3 Contextual background in the case studies

An important component of both studies was quite detailed secondary research into the physical, social and historic background of each landscape. This information gave a solid foundation in understanding the current forms of the landscape, and, even more importantly, provided a basis for understanding the nature and relevance of comments made during interviews. Without this background knowledge it would have been very difficult to make sense of many of the expressions of value, particularly where respondents made comments that assumed local knowledge.

The background research, which is reported in overview fashion in the first parts of Chapters 4 and 8, also ensured that the theory-building was rooted in conditions that were historically specific. The connectedness between insiders and their landscape is contingent in part on particular historical processes, and this exercise was aimed at ensuring those processes were understood and, where relevant, incorporated into the findings.

3.7.4 The choice of interviewees

The purpose of the research component – to determine the nature and range of cultural values – drove the choice of respondents. It was not considered necessary to gather a statistically significant data set on values, but rather to seek expressions of values that were as broad as possible and drew from a wide range of community members. Selection of the proposed interviewees thus aimed to include a range of longer and shorter term residents, different professions, different ages, and of different economic status. Specific targets were not set, but choices were made bearing this goal in mind.

Initially, a few key ‘insiders’ were selected and interviewed. At some stage during the interview, most of these informants volunteered names of other people who might have a similar or contrasting viewpoint, or they were asked at the end who else they could recommend for an interview. Where appropriate, these were followed up and interviewed in their turn. This method, whereby one interviewee suggests others to talk

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to, and those people refer to others, until the same names started to be repeated, is known as “snowball sampling” (Lawson and Garrod 2001:228).

A different process was used to identify Māori interviewees. In the Māori cultural tradition, only certain people are considered appropriate to speak for any particular tribal group (iwi) or sub-tribe (hapū). The correct process in discovering the ‘right people’ is to place a request through the relevant tribal organisation/s (rūnanga). This was done for both case studies, with an approach being made over the telephone where the purpose of the interview was explained, and, for the Akaroa study, two meetings also being held with representatives of both rūnanga to discuss the research topic prior to names being nominated.

For the Bannockburn study, as described in Chapter 4, only one person was nominated by the rūnanga. This person was said to be the only tribal elder with the requisite knowledge of the area. Unlike Akaroa, Bannockburn had no overt Māori presence within the community. In the Akaroa study area, two sub-tribes had distinct but overlapping interests, and therefore approaches were made to both rūnanga. Eight names were put forward, and ultimately six of these were available to be interviewed.

3.7.5 The interview process

In both studies, values held by community members were elicited by carrying out interviews with residents and others who had particular associations with the particular landscape. Prior to the interview process, as mentioned above, secondary research (primarily of documentary sources) was undertaken to establish the physical, historic and socio-cultural background of each landscape. This background helped inform the interview process and the later analysis of data. Community members are steeped in the context of names, places and historic events of their landscape, and without this information, the meaning or significance of many comments could have been missed. In Relph’s (1976) terms, the background research helped to position the interviewer as an ‘empathetic insider’ – a person with sufficient awareness of the nature of the place, its

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physical makeup, its historical context, and its social practices, as to be open to the significance of the landscape and respectful of its symbolism.

Prior to each interview, the interviewee was made fully aware of the research context of the interaction, and a request was made to record their responses and to use them in the research process.

The precise methodology used for the interviews will be detailed in the relevant chapters. In brief, semi-structured interviews were used, which, as Stake (2000) suggests, are an appropriate vehicle to discover the “multiple realities” of existence (p64). The questions sought to elicit personal and collective meanings, and what aspects of landscape were accorded significance by those associated with it. The questions were open-ended (e.g. “what is important to you about this landscape?”) with further questions being asked to prompt or for clarification if a comment had been unclear.

The hermeneutic tradition was influential in developing the research questions, and in the interview approach taken. The process was approached as an opportunity for an in- depth conversation, in which the interviewer would seek to reach a shared understanding with the interviewee as to what was valued. As the interviewer, I was clearly not a neutral party in the process – I would bring with me a bundle of values, preconceptions and hopes. Such baggage was likely to shape the interview process, even if in seemingly innocuous ways – e.g. nodding and smiling would tend to elicit more discussion of a point, whereas asking another question would bring the previous topic to a close. There was no escaping the reality of this, so the approach taken was to be as reflexive as possible, recognising that it was likely to be occurring, attempting as far as possible to avoid preconceptions, and working to try and understand the interviewee’s own point of view.

The interviews lasted from half an hour to around two hours. Notes were hand-written while the interviews were occurring. Tape recording was an option considered early on, but was dismissed. Firstly, it was considered that a microphone would be likely to

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constrain respondents by introducing an element of unnecessary formality. As Kitchin and Tate (2000) note, some interviewees can feel uncomfortable about being recorded and may hold back because of this. Note-taking is time-consuming but has the added advantage of engaging the interviewer in listening closely to what is being said (Sarantakos 1993, Kitchin and Tate 2000). Secondly, it was considered that the information did not need to be accurately recorded word-for-word, as the purpose of the research was to understand the general scope and nature of community values, rather than specific detail such as sentence structure. It was not intended to undertake discourse analysis, so the pattern and structure of sentences was not important. What was sought was a record of the phenomena that were referred to when people were asked what was significant to them about the landscape. Note-taking was therefore an adequate method of recording key comments and themes. The notes were made by the author during the interview process, with typically a prompting question being asked, and then notes being taken as the interviewee spoke. The notes would be reviewed shortly after each interview to ensure that they were clear and unambiguous, and clarifying notes appended if necessary.

The interviews were undertaken on the basis that specific comments would not be attributed to the source. Notes from the interviews have been retained so any future researcher may revisit the data, and are contained in Appendix 1.

3.7.6 The analysis process

The interviews produced a wide range of material. In using the material, two key decisions needed to be made. One was how to determine what information was relevant to the research question. The other was how to determine what information could be considered to be an expression of cultural value.

In terms of relevance, only data that which was coherent, intelligible, and related to the landscape was used in the analysis. In part this was weeded out during the interview process, because where the interviewee ranged well away from the topic no notes would be taken, and they would be steered back to the central question.

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For both data sets (Bannockburn and Akaroa) the interview notes were combed through seeking all statements that appeared to convey that the interviewee attributed some importance or significance to that matter. Because the questions were couched in terms such as “what is important to you?” it was assumed that the responses would by and large reflect precisely this. Even where comments were surprising, or contradictory, or even outside of the expectation of the interviewer, they were still considered to be valid expressions of personal value.

Following this, the data was further selected according to whether the expressed sentiments were shared or supported. This approach flows from the determination (described in Chapter 1) that cultural values are values that are shared by a group or community, or given legitimacy through a socially accepted way of assigning value. The ‘culturalness’ of personal expressions of value were thus determined by looking for commonalities with other personal expressions of value within that landscape, or commonalities with themes that had emerged from the contextual research (which drew largely from disciplinary studies of the relevant area). In Bannockburn, for example, two people spoke of the quality of the night sky, so this was accepted as being an aspect of landscape that was culturally significant. A single comment about archaeological sites was also considered to be ‘cultural’ in that it was supported by archaeological studies in the area. By using this ‘weeding-out’ approach, it was considered that the resulting data used to inform the development of the models would be reliable, relevant, and ‘cultural’ in the sense that it was shared within or between a group, community or discipline. The only exception was the information provided by the single Māori informant for Bannockburn. As he was the ‘only’ right person and was nominated by the rūnanga, it was considered that his interview constituted cultural information.

For the Bannockburn case study, an additional process helped to confirm that the recording of interviewee’s views had been accurate and reflected community-held values. As noted above, a separate report on the Bannockburn Heritage Landscape was prepared concurrent with the research process. As part of that exercise, the interview findings were written up, summarised, and prepared as a display for an Open Day at a

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local hall (the Bannockburn Bowling Clubrooms). The display also included maps, photographs, and accounts of the history of the landscape. Community members were invited to attend the Open Day and to check, correct, add to or delete from the information provided. Around 30 community members attended, staying for up to 2 hours each, reading, viewing and discussing the material. Many of these were people who had been interviewed, but a number of additional community members also attended. Only one concern was raised regarding a point in the summary of the community interviews, disagreeing with a recorded comment that pastoral farming was threatened by the changes occurring in the area (this person was not a ‘local’). It was assumed from this exercise that both interviewees and other community members were comfortable with the summary of landscape significance, and that it therefore could be said to reflect the cultural values of that community. This exercise gave confidence that the approach taken in the interview design and analysis was sufficiently robust, and that interviewer bias was not influencing the outcomes to a level that was of concern to the community.

What interviewees had to say about their landscape was the ‘way in’ to understanding the meanings and values built up through the experience of landscape. From this broad picture of values-as-a-whole, patterns and similarities of response were sought. Any given data set can be grouped according to any number of different criteria, but for the purposes of this study, the initial sorting was carried out according to physical and non- physical phenomena, and then within this into categories into which the data appeared to ‘naturally’ cluster, but which were informed by the wide-ranging literature search on disciplinary approaches to understanding landscape.

In this process, it was important not to dismiss values or to assign relative importance. As noted in section 3.3.1, evaluation is part of a decision-making process that should follow data collection, not determine it. Every attempt was made, therefore, to be inclusive of all expressed cultural values. The subsequent analysis of the findings is explained in the relevant chapters.

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3.7.7 Ethical questions

A number of potential ethical issues are implicit in case study research. These include whether the interviewees are aware of the purpose of the research, have given their informed consent to be involved in the research, and are aware of the use to which their interview results will be put. In this situation the research would involve asking questions of a personal nature, so it was important the interviewees did not feel pressured to reveal information that was of a sensitive nature, whether this was of personal or cultural significance. If such information was accidentally revealed, they needed to be aware that they could request this to not be used. Additionally, the interviewees needed to feel comfortable and respected during the research process.

Almost all of the interviews were undertaken in the informant’s own homes, with a few occurring in a workplace at time suitable to the interviewee or (in one instance) in a café. Prior to each interview, the informant was told of the purpose of the research and the use to which the interview material would be directed, and asked if they wanted to participate. Each interviewee was given an assurance that their name and any directly identifying material would not be included in the finished work. Additionally, it was made clear that there was no compulsion to speak about matters which were sensitive or confidential, or had such cultural or spiritual significance that it was inappropriate to reveal them. This became particularly relevant at Akaroa, where Māori interviewees, for example, would mention that certain sites and areas were tapu, but it would have been inappropriate to ask for details about the nature of the sacredness or the exact locations. This information is held at a tribal level, but for the purposes of the study it was both unethical and unnecessary to delve any further into details.

3.8 Conclusion

The objective of the research design was to adequately address the research question, and in doing so to fulfil a defendable process of theory-building.

The research question was addressed by breaking it into two sub-questions, each of which was addressed by the six ‘inquiry’ components of the research. These

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components and their connection to the primary research question provided a strong backbone to support and link the wide array of primary and secondary data, from which the theoretical models were developed.

In short, the design of the research strategy was intended to facilitate a multi- disciplinary, inclusive study into cultural values in landscapes. From a ‘blank slate’ with regards the possible range of meanings and concepts, it was aimed to work systematically towards the development of a theoretical framework that addressed the conceptual void in planning literature, and that was compatible with current inter- disciplinary thinking.

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CHAPTER 4

BANNOCKBURN PILOT STUDY

4.1 Introduction

The pilot study of the Bannockburn landscape occurred at the beginning of the research process. It set out to discover the range of meanings and values expressed by a community about its landscape (Research Component 1). As discussed in Chapter 3, it was carried out as a study of a ‘heritage landscape’ – that is, a landscape that was known to have significant historic and cultural values.

The study area is located in the Central Otago region of New Zealand, and consists of a valley and river terraces bounded on three sides by mountain ranges and on one side by the Kawarau River (see Figure 4). The area has a resident population of a little over 100 people, most of whom live in the small settlement of Bannockburn. The surrounding rural area is predominantly occupied by a few large pastoral stations, but closer to the settlement are a number of smaller rural holdings. The past decade has seen a major land use change in the northern part of the area with the establishment of many vineyards. Subdivision and new housing development is also causing actual or incipient landscape change.

Although the study area is shown in Figure 4 as having a definite boundary, it was recognised from the beginning that it would never be possible to draw hard lines about the landscape because perception, history, human movement and the physical features of the land are continuous. It was important, however, to limit the focus of the study to a reasonably confined area while not preventing discussion of the broader landscape where this was appropriate. The study focus was therefore the area indicated, although recognition was also given to the wider context where appropriate.

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The study involved two different methods of research. Firstly, background research on the physical, historic and social context of the landscape was carried out using existing documentary sources. As discussed in Chapter 3, this information provided a background against which community meanings and values could be better understood. The results of this research are reported in Section 4.2. Further details on the landscape context can be found in the Bannockburn Heritage Landscape Study (Stephenson, Bauchop, and Petchey 2004), which was an intrinsic study of the area’s landscape carried out concurrently with the pilot study interviews.

FIGURE 4: Location of the Bannockburn study area

Primary research, carried out through semi-structured interviews, was however the key source of data for addressing the research component 1: What is the nature and range of values expressed by a community about its landscape? The methodology used is described in section 4.3, and the outcomes of this part of the research are reported in Section 4.4.

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4.2 The Study Context

This section draws from the Bannockburn Heritage Landscape Study (Stephenson, Bauchop, and Petchey 2004), for which the writer was the principal author. Where photographs and figures are used from this study, they are separately credited.

4.2.1 The physical landscape

The study area lies within a distinctive and spectacular landscape, dominated visually by mountain ranges covered in tussock and scattered schist rock outcrops. The Cairnmuir Mountains, Old Woman Range, Carrick Range and Mt Difficulty encircle the Bannockburn Basin to the west, south and east. To the north, on the opposite side of the Kawarau River, stretches a long view of the Cromwell Basin and Lake Dunstan, bordered to the west by the Pisa Range and to the east by the Dunstan Mountains.

FIGURE 5: Looking north-east from Bannockburn sluicings along the Cromwell Basin

The image overlooks vineyards on the Kawarau River terraces. The river runs through the terraces in mid-foreground. The Dunstan Range is visible right rear. (Photo: Peter Petchey 2003)

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FIGURE 6: The Bannockburn study area in 2003 (map by Peter Petchey 2003, redrawn by Department of Conservation)

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Within the study area, the generally north and east-facing slopes of the Carrick Range drop relatively steeply, and then ease off to a series of generally north-facing terraces to the Kawarau River, dissected by steep-sided gullies. Alluvial flats run up the Bannockburn valley in the south of the study area, but the streams which have created them become more steeply gorged towards the Kawarau River.

The landscape is underlain by schist, formed from mudstone and sandstone during the Jurassic period. The high temperatures of this metamorphic process turned gold soluble and it moved through fractures in the rock, settling into veins of quartz – the origins of Bannockburn’s gold. Around 130 million years ago the schist was uplifted, tilted and folded, and later smoothed to form a gently undulating peneplain across most of what is now Central Otago. About 20 million years ago a huge freshwater complex evolved on the peneplain. At its margins were peat-rich swamps which created coal and shale deposits – later Bannockburn’s coal deposits. About 3 million years ago, pressures from the Alpine Fault acting on a series of fault lines transformed part of the peneplain into the mountain ranges of Central Otago, while differential lift along these faults created the Cromwell Basin.

Weathering of the quartz seams of the Carrick range over millions of years, created the gold-enriched gravels in the streams and alluvial fans below. The quartz lodes are localised rather than universally spread across the mountain; hence some streams carried gold and others did not. Seams of lignite coal crop out along the banks of the Kawarau River between Cromwell and Bannockburn, and some distance up Shepherds Creek.

The area lies within the driest part of New Zealand. The climate is sub-humid, with an annual rainfall of 300-400mm per year. Hot dry summers and very cold dry winters create an environment which is harsh on plants, animals and humans.

The natural vegetation today is largely tussock, but scattered trees and shrubs was once widespread. From about 2000 years ago, a warming climate and periodic natural fires

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created gaps in the forest which were filled by tussock, creating a mosaic of forest and open country. The arrival of Māori wrought further changes. Radiocarbon dating indicates a spate of burning between 700 and 750 years ago, some of which may have been accidental, but some of which was also likely to have been a tool used in hunting moa (extinct large flightless birds) to clear routes and flush out game. Following the fires, the tussock expanded and the forest did not re-establish, possibly also because drier conditions were less suitable for regrowth. By the time of European occupation in the late 1850s, the forest remnants were small and the few remaining areas were probably used for firewood and building within a few years. Pastoral farming maintained and further modified the pattern of tussock grasslands through further burning, grazing and the introduction of new plants.

FIGURE 7: The Young Australian water wheel and gold mine, Carrick Range (Photo: Peter Petchey 2003)

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4.2.2 The historic context

Māori relationships with the landscape

Carbon dating suggests that Māori had a presence in Central Otago from around the mid-13th century, at which time moa were being hunted in large numbers. There is no physical evidence of Māori habitation or use in the study area apart from two tool find- spots, but this is scarcely surprising given the extent of land disturbance from mining in the nineteenth century. Māori are known to have used the food resources of Central Otago on a seasonal basis, moving in from their more permanent villages near the coast. Routes used by Māori to access pounamu (greenstone) sources further west passed close to the study area.

The centuries up to the present saw successive waves of tribal groups (Waitaha, Rapuwai, Kati Mamoe, Kai Tahu) who moved south and intermarried with earlier groups. Māori association with Central Otago has therefore been continuous, although the impact of colonisation meant that seasonal migrations for food ended shortly after European arrivals in the nineteenth century.

Although there is little archaeological evidence of Māori relationships with the landscape, these relationships exist in oral evidence. The primary tangata whenua informant1 recounted a story that shows a continuity of association with the area. He related how a young girl Maia had been injured and could not easily move. A flock of bouakai flew in and were menacing her. Her mother Kofiua became distraught, but she and her son Kolo staunchly defended Maia and kept the bouakai at bay until help arrived. The bouakai were the New Zealand eagle (Harpagornis), which had a wing- span of up to three metres and a weight of 10-13 kg. They became extinct about 500 years ago, around the same time as the moa. Arising from this story, the Māori name for the Bannockburn area is Kofiua. Streams in the area are named Bouakai, Kofiua and Kolo, and where the streams meet is known as Maia. The story links the tangata whenua to the Bannockburn area and shows their continuity with the moa-hunter era.

1 The Māori words in this story are in the southern dialect.

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Establishment of pastoral farming

European settlement of the study area began in 1858 with the establishment of Kawarau Station. The 200,000 acre station was set up by the Australian and New Zealand Land Company, and remained virtually unchanged in area until 1910. The station homestead and main farm buildings were established in the Bannockburn Valley and remain there to this day, serving the smaller but still extant Kawarau Station.

FIGURE 8: Stone woolshed, Kawarau Station (Photo: Peter Petchey 2003)

The gold era

Central Otago’s gold rush was sparked by the discovery of gold at Gabriels Gully in 1861. This was followed by a stream of gold-seekers searching the valleys and hills of Central Otago. By the end of 1862, gold had been found at Bannockburn and a significant mining population spread over the area. The peak goldfields population in

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Bannockburn of over 2000 people was reached around 1868, but owing to the rich gold resource in the Bannockburn area, gold-mining continued there in various forms for several decades until tailing off after 1910.

Gold-mining wrought huge changes on the Bannockburn landscape. Alluvial areas were mined first, with miners working the river flats around Shepherds and Bannockburn Creeks. Miners followed the creeks upstream, moving into the tributary gullies and building huts close to their workings.

Gold-panning of surface gold was soon followed by more sophisticated methods of extracting gold. The ever-evolving technologies used to win gold from the ground were an important part of the longevity of gold-mining in the area.

From hand panning, miners would have moved to cradles and other more sophisticated methods of washing gravels, including sluicing. Alluvial mining depended on the availability of water, and a frenzy of construction from the mid-1860s through the 1870s saw numerous water races built to convey water from distant sources. The resulting ability to sluice with high-pressure water gave much faster returns.

Technologies to extract gold from quartz emerged in parallel. From the mid 1860s to around 1890, the gold-bearing quartz reefs on the Carrick Range were mined, and stamping batteries were built to crush the ore. Several settlements (e.g. Carricktown, Quartzville) were built in the hills, based on this industry.

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FIGURE 9: Sluicing, Hancock & Lawrence’s Claim, Bannockburn (Reproduced by Courtesy of Hocken Library, Uare Taoka o Hakena, University of Otago, no date)

The new technology of dredging provided a further source of gold from the 1890s. Large barges with suction pumps were floated in the Kawarau River and its tributaries, initially extracting vast quantities of gold. Diminishing returns meant that this industry lasted until around 1910, at which point the final source of easily-won gold had been sucked dry. The great mining era was over.

Coal-mining developed alongside gold-mining in Bannockburn from the mid 1860s and continued for almost a century into the 1950s. Coal from the mines was used for domestic purposes, but its primary importance was in providing motive power for gold- mining machinery. The batteries used in quartz crushing, for example, were typically steam-powered, which required the continual firing of a boiler. Dredges also used significant quantities of coal. The coal mines were also important for local employment, providing an alternative to the declining gold returns.

It is difficult, looking at the landscape today, to visualise just how much it was altered during the latter part of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Virtually all of the terraces between the Kawarau River and the foot of the Carrick Range were mined,

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mostly by sluicing, which changed landforms out of all recognition. Sluicing continued up all of the gold-bearing streams. Gold dredges worked along the edges of the Kawarau River and up Bannockburn and Shepherds Creeks, lifting and re-laying river beds and river margins. Coal mines were more localised but also involved large amounts of earthworks. The slopes of the Carrick Range, where quartz mines were established, were scarred by mines and scored by tracks and water races. Photographs from the mid-late nineteenth century show a devastated and barren landscape. Today, vegetation has largely masked the damage and it is often difficult to differentiate between ‘natural’ and ‘cultural’ features except where vegetation has refused to grow, as on sluice faces.

Development of agriculture and orchards

The forced subdivision of the huge Kawarau Station in 1910 coincided with the end of the gold extraction, and heralded a new era. Previously all of the land in the study area had been part of the Station’s pastoral lease. Where mining occurred, mining rights superseded those of the station, but miners and their settlements had no ongoing rights of presence. The subdivision meant that 16 smaller stations were created (6 within the study area). Additionally, some areas were made available for closer settlement. Some of the smaller allotments were confirmation of land previously occupied as residence areas under the mining legislation, and most of these were granted to families who were longstanding residents. The subdivisions gave security of title and enabled families to work towards an alternative to their previous mining income.

Homesteads and associated buildings were built on the new pastoral stations soon after the 1910 subdivision. On the smaller sections, farming and orcharding developed on a small scale, possibly often associated with other off-farm work such as shepherding, rabbiting or coal-mining. For many years, these activities provided the backbone of local life, in addition to pastoral farming. The water races constructed for mining proved to be essential for irrigation for the new uses of land.

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FIGURE 10: House and sheds clad in corrugated iron (Photo: Heather Bauchop 2003)

The impression gained of Bannockburn from the 1920s through to the 1970s is one of stability. There is a common view amongst long-term residents today that no major changes happened in those years. The stations continued to be farmed, small farmers and orchardists lived a modest existence on their landholdings, and community life revolved about local institutions such as the school, store and post office. The population gradually dropped, as lack of employment meant young people moved elsewhere for work, and abandoned dwellings became derelict. The early 1970s saw what could have been the death-knell to the settlement – within a few years the school, store and post office had all been closed or, in the case of the school, changed to a school camp. A few places were owned as holiday homes, but many of the buildings associated with the mining era were derelict.

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The beginning of change

The Clutha hydro-electric power scheme sowed the first seeds of change. Studies had begun on a potential dam site on the Clutha river in the 1960s. The preparation for the scheme and its commissioning brought an influx of new people to the area, and a return of some of the descendants of old resident families. The damming at Clyde in the 1980s changed the Kawarau River, previously deeply gorged and fast-flowing, into a broad slow-moving stretch of water some tens of metres higher than the previous water level. The lower reaches of the Bannockburn Creek became an arm of Lake Dunstan. The new lake not only changed the landscape visually, but also made irrigation more accessible and provided new recreational opportunities.

Planning for the hydro-electric scheme had included research looking particularly at soil types and climates to identify new areas suitable for horticulture. These studies were to form a crucial basis for the economic redevelopment of the Bannockburn area on a scale not seen since the goldrushes – the viticulture boom. The studies showed Bannockburn to have particularly good growing conditions for grapes, and were used by interested parties to pick the prime sites for viticulture in the Bannockburn Basin.

Vines were first planted in the most climatically favourable positions from 1991, and gained momentum from 1995 onwards. Today, the majority of Bannockburn vineyards are on the terraces at the north end of the study area, although they are also expanding further south (see Figure 6). Viticulturists and their workers have settled in Bannockburn and the surrounding rural areas, boosting the local population still further.

The huge changes in land use since the 1990s have been almost entirely limited to the terrace country at the north end of the study area. Further up the Bannockburn Valley, and in the Carrick Range and other hills encircling the area, there has been little change. In these areas, pastoral farming continues much as it has for the past 145 years.

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FIGURE 11: Recently established vineyards, with sluicings at rear (Peter Petchey 2003)

Bannockburn today

Today, Bannockburn settlement is gradually expanding. The population of the study area in 2001 was 114 residents (Statistics New Zealand 2001). Given the visible expansion of new housing it is likely that the population was higher by the time of the interviews in 2003.

People living in the study area range from those whose families have been in the area for several generations to those who have only recently arrived. A number still carry on activities relating to the land, with traditional activities such as farming and orcharding showing declining numbers, and viticulture and associated wine-making showing increasing numbers. There are also an increasing number of ‘lifestyle’ blocks on which owners may graze a few sheep, plant a few trees, or carry out small-scale horticulture (e.g. olive trees, saffron). Many residents commute for work to Cromwell and beyond.

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Others are retired. A number of owners are also ‘cribbies’ – those with holiday homes in the area, some of which are historic buildings. A few cribbies have a relatively long association with the area (20-40 years). The resident community therefore reflects a range of ‘knowing’ of the landscape and its history, from those who draw from long family or personal engagement, through to very recent arrivals.

As well as being a place where people live, work and commute from, Bannockburn is increasingly becoming a place that people visit. Crib owners have already been mentioned. Tourists are also drawn by the heritage features, the natural landscape, and recreational opportunities as well as the burgeoning vineyards and wineries. Organised recreational events such as the Bannockburn Gutbuster and the Carricktown Crusher (mountain bike races) have also drawn many people to the area in recent years.

Tangata whenua for the Central Otago area include people of three hapū (sub-tribes): Te Rūnanga o Otakou, Kati Huirapa Runaka ki te Puketeraki and Te Runaka Moeraki. The hapū still retain strong connections to the land, which is borne out by places names and stories of the area. At the time of the interviews there were no known tangata whenua living in the study area, although the key tangata whenua informant had lived with his family under canvas in Bannockburn and other parts of Central Otago during the 1930s Depression while his family mined for gold.

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FIGURE 12: Part of Bannockburn settlement, showing the historic Bannockburn store on left (Photo: Heather Bauchop 2003)

4.2.3 The planning context

The Bannockburn area lies within the jurisdiction of the Central Otago District Council. That council’s District Plan {Central Otago District Council, 2001 #1023} identifies all land above 700 metres (above sea level) as being ‘significant landscape’, which applies to the higher elevations of the study area. In addition, six ‘outstanding landscapes’ are identified in the district, but none apply in the study area. Both of these categories specifically relate to the ‘natural’ values of the landscape.

A few controls apply to activities in significant landscapes, including the cutting of new roads, establishing forests, or significantly altering any natural feature. These controls have the effect of making subdivision a discretionary activity in these areas (consent may be granted or refused depending on the circumstances). A further control is that new buildings in rural areas should not be visually prominent on the skyline when

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viewed from a public place, and should be ‘finished in tones and colours in the range of browns, dark greens, greys and creams which do not reflect light at a greater intensity than the natural background’ (section 4.7.6 (D)).

From a ‘cultural’ perspective, the District Plan identifies fourteen items in its schedule of Heritage Buildings, Places, Sites and Objects (schedule 19.4) within the study area. These include the war memorial, Presbyterian Church, Post Office, Store, Stewart Town ruins, two dams, a water wheel and related battery and hut, two buildings at Kawarau Station, and an area of sluicings. (Of these, all but the Kawarau Station buildings and the Bannockburn store are in some form of public ownership). These items are covered by rules in the District Plan which require that a resource consent application must be made if demolition or alteration is proposed.

Apart from these provisions, there are no planning controls on any other potentially significant aspects of the study landscape. This means that, apart from that identified above, there is no limit on physical change to valued aspects of the landscape.

4.3 Case study methodology

The community interviews aimed to address the first research component, which asked “what is the nature and range of values expressed by a community about its landscape?” In designing the research to gather ‘insider’ views of landscape value, it was necessary to determine who to include. People resident in the area could clearly be considered ‘insiders’ – such as those who made a living from the land, those who lived in Bannockburn but worked outside the area, and those who had retired to the study area. In addition there were two other groups to consider. The first group was tangata whenua, the indigenous Māori people. Historically, Māori had used the Central Otago area for gathering resources on a seasonal basis, and there are still strong links between the relevant hapū and the Central Otago area. It was important to interview relevant tribal members regarding this relationship, particularly in respect of the study area. The second additional group to consider was the ‘cribbies’. These part-time residents often

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develop long-term associations, and so the significance of the landscape to this group was also of interest. People to be interviewed were consciously chosen to represent all of these groups. There was no compunction to make a random selection, as what was sought was not a statistically significant sample of value statements, but, rather, as wide a range as possible of views on landscape values.

Selection of the proposed interviewees was thus purposeful to the extent that choices were made to ensure that all the above groups were covered, including a range of longer and shorter term residents, different professions, and farmers involved in different types of farming and horticulture. Initially, a few key ‘insiders’ were selected and interviewed. At some stage during the interview, most of these informants volunteered names of other people who might have a similar or contrasting viewpoint, or they were asked at the end who else they could recommend for an interview. Where appropriate, these were followed up and interviewed in their turn. This method, whereby one interviewee suggests others to talk to, and those people refer to others, until the same names started to be repeated, is known as “snowball sampling” (Lawson and Garrod 2001:228).

Finding the appropriate Māori interviewee took some time, given the long dislocation of Māori from the area, and the absence of any locally based tangata whenua. It had been hoped to interview more than one tangata whenua representative, but ultimately there was only one ‘correct person’ who held the stories and knowledge of the place. This interview was supplemented by more generally available literature on Māori values in the Central Otago landscape.

Fourteen ‘insider’ interviews were carried out, using open-ended questions. Having completed introductions and explained the purpose of the study, the interview process consisted of firstly establishing the identity of the interviewee, their length of occupation in the study area, and the nature of their relationship with the landscape (e.g. farmer, tangata whenua, retiree). This was followed by an invitation to the interviewee to talk about what was important to them about the landscape. As discussed earlier, the landscape during this pilot study was referred to as a ‘heritage landscape’ and the study

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as a ‘heritage landscape study’. If interviewees asked what was meant by ‘heritage’, they would be told that it meant anything that was of value to them, or those aspects of the landscape that they would like to be retained for future generations. When the interviewee stopped speaking, they would be prompted by asking about something they had already mentioned that required clarification, or asked if there was any other aspect of the landscape that was also important. The interview would finish at the point when the interviewee had nothing new to add.

The interviews lasted from half an hour to around two hours. Notes were hand-written while the interviews were occurring. Tape recording was an option considered early on, but was dismissed. Firstly, it was considered that a microphone would be likely to constrain respondents by introducing an element of unnecessary formality. Secondly the information did not need to be accurately recorded word-for-word, as the purpose of the research was to understand the general scope and nature of community values, rather than specific detail such as sentence structure. Note-taking was therefore an adequate method of recording key comments and themes. The notes were made by the author during the interview process, with typically a prompting question being asked, and then notes being taken as the interviewee spoke. The notes would be reviewed shortly after each interview to ensure that they were clear and unambiguous.

The interviews were undertaken on the basis that specific comments would not be attributed to the source. Notes from the interviews have been retained so any future researcher may revisit the data, and are contained in Appendix 1.

Analysis of the interview results involved collating the interviews and combing through looking for common patterns of response. In terms of Sarantakos’ (1993) steps of theory construction, the analysis involved searching for commonalities in the records of the interviews, as they related to valued aspects of their ‘heritage landscape’. The responses were then classified into general groups or categories of stated value. As noted in Chapter 3 (Methodology), ‘cultural values’ were taken to be those values that were shared either among interviewees or held in common with other formalised ways of assessing value (e.g. archaeology, expressions of Maori cultural value). The categories

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of value described below therefore represent expressed values which are also shared values. No attempt was made to assign relative significance or priority to any value or set of values over any other.

4.4 Valued components of the landscape

This section reports the findings from the analysis of the interviews. It is presented as two sections: physical qualities and non-physical qualities. The reason for this form of presentation is that it had been assumed that people would largely focus on the physical aspects of the landscape, and the data was first analysed in this light. During the analysis it was realised that much of the feedback had in fact been about non-physical qualities, and therefore these were then drawn out from the data.

4.4.1 Physical qualities valued in the landscape

When asked what was important to them in the landscape, all interviewees referred in some way to physical qualities of the landscape. In common with many other interviewees, A, for example, referred to historic gold workings, water races, sod walls, an historic wagon trails, and the sites of historic settlements. Other features such as specific buildings, ruins, mining tailings, mines and trees were identified. A number of places were named, including places that have a current physical presence (e.g. Bannockburn settlement), to places that once existed but are now little more than a known location with possibly some archaeological features (e.g. Quartzville).

Lineal features such as roads, tracks and water races were often mentioned by respondents. Interviewee A, for example, spoke of the historic route out of the area via the ‘natural bridge’ over the Kawarau River (a rock, since fallen), the Carrick water race, Bull Spur Road (an old wagon trail) and an ‘original fence’ from the first Kawarau Station.

Broader aspects of the landscape referred to as being important include the surrounding mountains and hills, and the gullies, terraces and sluicings (formations and cliffs left

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after gold sluicing). Interviewees valued the large pastoral stations, and the remaining orchards. Perhaps surprisingly, vineyards were also largely considered to be a positive addition to the landscape even though they had wrought highly visible change in the northern part of the study area. In L’s opinion, for example, the vineyards were ‘not so distressing’ as the damming of the Kawarau River, as they added a new dimension to the landscape which he associated with European history.

Some structures or places stood out as being of particular significance, with a number of respondents referring to them. The former Bannockburn post office and store, which are the main remnants of ‘old’ Bannockburn, were frequently mentioned. Although neither building is currently available for public use (one being privately owned and the other by the Department of Conservation), they were still perceived as having strong public value. F, for example, explained that there had been community meeting places, and when they were closed, these meeting places were lost. The Presbyterian church was also frequently mentioned as being a highly important part of the landscape, being the centre of many previous weddings, christenings, funerals and other community events. (It should be noted that at the time of interviews the building had been put up for sale by the church organisation, which generated a strong concern and fervour in the community that yet another key landmark would be lost from community use. Subsequently, the church was purchased by the community itself and is now a community asset.)

4.4.2 Non-physical qualities valued in the landscape

Many of the references made by interviewees were to non-physical values, in that they were located in the landscape but not in themselves tangible, although they may be associated with a physical feature. These overlap with and often refer to aspects of the physical landscape, but are not physical qualities in themselves.

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Sensory responses

A number of interviewees described their sensory responses to the landscape, from a variety of perspectives. The mountains surrounding Bannockburn were important for their starkness, wildness, colour, changeability, and sense of enclosure. People enjoyed the combination of tors and tussock, the folds of the hills and the lack of visible development. As an artist, H found the landscapes ‘inspirational’.

The lower country was described as a pleasing contrast to the starker mountains above – the valleys were greener, and in autumn touched with gold from the ubiquitous poplar trees. Places of special beauty or interest included the creeks and rivers, and the vineyards and orchards which also change with the seasons. A number of interviewees talked about the sky - its breadth, and the quality of light, K describing the night sky as ‘stunning’.

Interviewees rarely referred to a single sensory quality - instead a combination of qualities emerged, such as with H who referred to ‘vistas, skyline, rock, harshness, history, stories in the land, climate, accessibility, all these things drawn together’. K similarly referred to the combination of mountains, sky and weather, particularly the seasonal and weather-related changes. Expressions about sensory perceptions ranged from relatively muted comments about views, to L’s statement that the landscape ‘blows me away’.

Spiritual qualities

For the tangata whenua informant (N), the spiritual quality was referred to in terms of ancestral significance. The physical landscape was both formed by and represented ancestral figures, or conveyed the past actions of ancestors. The name of the area (Kofiua) and the streams (Bouakai, Kofiua and Kola) recall the Bouakai story; the adjacent Nevis Valley was named Paapuni or Papapuni meaning ‘camping place’, and Aoraki/Mt Cook (admittedly well outside of the study area) is the personification of two

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ancestors whose canoe was wrecked on the east coast of Otago. H also referred to spiritual qualities of the landscape but did not elucidate further.

Genealogical connections

Genealogical relationships associated with the landscape – having ancestors who had lived in and worked in the area – were important to both Māori and European informants: F, for example, recounted his family’s occupation in the area since 1876 as a descriptive narrative of work, births and deaths. Other informants mentioned that they had family connections to the area, as part of describing why the landscape was important to them.

Stories

The landscape ‘held’ stories, some of which were briefly recounted during the interviews. Interviewee N, the Maori informant, recounted the story of Kofiua, Kolo and Maia and the Bouakai. This evocative story links tangata whenua to their ancestors in the landscape half a millennium ago. Other interviewees related stories about the area which they had heard from family members or others. These included stories dating from the nineteenth century about the construction of the Carrick Race, stories about miners (such as those driven mad by drink, the loneliness and the isolation of small claims), stories about ‘Jockey Jones’ (a notorious local woman), and stories about Chinese (as miners and as community members until the 1920s).

While such stories ‘belonged’ in the landscape, they did not necessarily have a known location. The Bouakai story, for example, refers in part to places that exist only in memory, their exact location being unknown. Similarly, the exact locations of routes used by Māori prior to colonisation are unknown and so they have no physical presence as such. Other transmitted memories, such as the story about the miner who was murdered, the Angel’s Rest Hotel, or the Chinese miners, are only vaguely located.

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History in the landscape

All interviewees showed an awareness of aspects of history in the landscape. All mentioned specific historic structures or places in the landscape, and many related pieces of history, or showed photographs of people or places from the past. The visible and intangible sense of history in the landscape was widely appreciated. L, for example, particularly valued the sense of continuity in the landscape, exemplified by the combination of natural and historic features. Interviewees referred to the pleasure of exploring the land and coming across historic features (usually to do with mining); seeing landforms and features that related to past activities; finding out about the past through talking to older people, research, finding artifacts, and comparing historic photographs to the present landscape. H spoke of the ‘rich immediacy’ of the history of the area - finding ceramics when digging the garden, and the widespread visible historic features – and noted that ‘the historic past is very present here’. In contrast, F felt that new people don’t pick up on the history of the area, and don’t know what to look for.

Those with a longer association with the area tended to have a greater knowledge of the history of the area, and knew of many features which had disappeared, or had deteriorated significantly. A, for example, produced a hand-drawn map he had done of the geographical and historic features of the area, and B similarly had painstakingly put together a detailed series of maps of the historic features from the mining era through to the mid-20th century.

Names

The names of places, features and people in the landscape appeared to be an integral part of its distinctive identity. Part of ‘knowing’ and being connected with the landscape appeared to involve an awareness of names of places. Names in their turn created an ongoing linkage to stories that belonged to the landscape (e.g. Bouakai), families or individuals who had lived and worked in the landscape (e.g. Smith’s Gully), physical features (e.g. Pipeclay Gully) or activities that had occurred (e.g. Quartzville). In

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interviews, names acted as a fulcrum about which the conversation about place occurred.

Activities

When speaking of the valued aspects of the landscape, interviewees frequently referred to activities, both those in the past and those that are current. Valued land-based activities included pastoral farming, various forms of gold-mining, coal-mining, viticulture, orchards, other forms of small farming. Past practices were important, even if they no longer occur; in particular the gold and coal mining traditions of the area. Practices were appreciated for their spin-offs as well as in their own right: for G, for example, viticulture has brought a previously unknown vitality to the area.

Community-related practices were also important – community events such as celebrations and sports, and community members working together such as rabbiting and working on the water races. The practice most commonly referred to was the ability to move through the landscape on foot, variously referred to as walking, exploring, roaming, access, and wandering through the landscape. In the past, the absence of development meant an almost unrestricted ability to move through the stations and other properties in the area (with the owner’s permission). Owners accepted this and there was an implicit trust that unwritten rural laws (shutting gates, not disturbing at lambing time) would be respected. A number of interviewees expressed sorrow at the gradual ‘closing off’ of the landscape from people due to the increasing construction of fences, houses and vineyards, and the different expectations of new landowners.

Another valued practice was the passing on of stories that relate to the landscape. Many people who had family links to the area over several generations were the holders of family stories. Some people have also made a point of collecting stories of the area, and tracing genealogies and the personal histories of those who lived in the area.

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Some interviewees described particular past events as being important. These included the construction of the Carrick race, the subdivision of Kawarau station in 1910, and the commissioning of the Clyde hydro-electric dam in 1980s.

Physical processes

Interviewees also spoke about physical processes in the landscape. Seasonal changes, which changed the colours of leaves in the poplar and willow trees, and the colours of the vineyards, were enjoyed by M and L, and K referred to his enjoyment of the weather changes. The physical decay of historic features, such as mud huts and sod walls, were of concern to a number of interviewees, as was the growth of weeds obscuring historic features, and the loss of the lower Shepherd’s creek from the rise in water level.

Sense of community

When speaking of values in the landscape, many interviewees referred to a strong sense of community. Longer-term residents recalled the stable period of the 1950s-70s, and the strong community spirit that prevailed. As G noted, everybody used to know everybody. During that period the post office and store were still open, and, along with the pub, formed a cluster of buildings at which community members met. The influx of new people into the area, particularly since the late 1980s, and the closure of most of the community meeting-spaces, has meant that residents no longer know everybody as they did in the past, and some interviewees noted the community is no longer as homogenous. The close-knit rural-focused community has changed, and new people have a broader range of backgrounds. Nevertheless most interviewees commented positively on the community spirit, and the fact that (unlike some other places) there is no obvious division between newcomers and those who are longer established. Irrigation is another uniting factor in the community. Landowners necessarily come together to ensure the upkeep of water races which serve their land, many of which are heritage features in their own right, such as the Carrick Race.

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This apparent linkage between landscape and sense of community was unexpected but serves to reinforce the contribution of landscape qualities to social interactions.

Sense of place

Associated with this, a number of interviewees referred to a sense of place, a feeling, or a sense of belonging to the landscape - a connection between people and landscape that respondents found it hard to put into words. For some of the informants, the presence of earlier generations of their family in the area contributed to their feeling of connectedness to that specific landscape. The character of the place was called ‘distinctive’ (I), with the distinctiveness being made up of a wide range of factors such as described above. Noting ‘something unusual about people’s regard for the landscape’, H bemoaned the lack of a language to describe how people feel about a place.

4.4.3 Community concerns

In addition to speaking about the aspects of the landscape that were valued, interviewees also spoke (often with no prompting) about landscape changes that were of concern to them. These responses were particularly informative because they highlight the sense of loss that can occur for insiders when changes occur. They also help confirm what aspects of the landscape are valued. Concerns about change included the urbanisation of the landscape, the loss of historic features, the effects of widespread land-use changes such as viticulture and forestry, reduced ability to walk through the landscape, the change from pastoral farming to other forms of land use, and reduced opportunities for community interactions.

Urbanisation of the landscape

Almost all interviewees were concerned at the increasing urbanisation of the landscape – the proliferation of ‘lifestyle’ blocks and their attendant houses, driveways, fencing, plantings, lights, noise, etc. Several people mentioned that in recent years, lights had

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changed the previous extraordinary experience of the sparkling night sky. As M noted, the growth of Cromwell meant its street lights were now visible; the many new houses in Bannockburn meant the night was now punctuated by many lights, changing the absolute darkness that used to prevail.

The greatest concern was about subdivision extending up the hillsides into the tussock country. One particular proposal for 17 lots running up a very visible spur was often commented on. At the time of the interviews, this had been granted planning consent by the Council, and was under appeal, with at least one of the interviewees actively involved in the appeal process. Interviewees who commented on this generally felt that any subdivision should be kept to the valley floor where there is less visual impact, and should not be allowed on hills or ridges. The point was often made that people came to Bannockburn because of the quality of the landscape, and that subdivision like this would destroy the very qualities that people sought.

There was also concern about subdivision and urbanisation in the valley. As J noted, the increase in property values pushes up rates and forces people to subdivide, which itself has a domino effect, increasing property prices yet more. L considered that market forces may well turn Bannockburn into a satellite suburb of Cromwell.

Some people interviewed were concerned not only about the rapid rate of subdivision but also the form of new development and whether it was appropriate to the area. H suggested that new houses should take more regard to the scale and style of historic buildings, and that maybe there should be guidelines for new development especially in the vicinity of Bannockburn.

Vineyards and urban development are not necessarily easy neighbours. While people like to live near vineyards, they can have adverse effects (e.g. noise, sprays). Viticulturist I was concerned that housing developments near vineyards could be a long- term threat to the industry as people may want restrictions on how the vineyards operate, making them uneconomic.

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Loss of historic buildings and features

Those with a longer association with the area, such as A, B and F, tended to have a greater knowledge of its history, and many of these referred to the loss of heritage features. They knew of many features which had disappeared, or had deteriorated significantly. There was a concern about the cumulative loss over time, and that people today had no idea of how rich the area previously was in historic features.

Despite variations in knowledge, most people interviewed spoke of the loss of particular historic buildings or features. In some cases this was from general deterioration over time; in other cases it was from deliberate action; and in others it was from benign neglect – owners not taking a ‘stitch in time’ to prevent deterioration. Particular losses to sluicings that were mentioned included people bulldozing them, planting them up, building houses in them and planting grapes. Bottle-hunters and other collectors had removed artifacts. Recent mining exploration has damaged older quartz mining sites. The reduction in rabbit numbers from RHD virus means that shrubby vegetation is growing in sluicings to a much greater extent than previously. 4WD vehicles and trail bikes on the hills damage historic features and create new tracks. Several people mentioned the loss of the corrugated iron villa opposite the store, and its replacement by a two-storeyed modern house, as this building together with the store and post office had previously been seen as the centre of historic Bannockburn. Many of the small cottages of the area have been lost over the years, mainly from deterioration (G recalled at least 10 mud cottages in the vicinity of their property in Miners Terrace; now there are two). Sod or rammed-earth field walls, once a feature of the area, have largely disappeared as well, although there are some remnants left. Some vineyard owners have damaged or removed historic ruins where they get in the way of the new plantings. Other buildings or ruins are under threat from neglect.

Retaining the stories

Some interviewees considered that there should be better interpretation (signs, brochures, etc.) of the historic features of the landscape so that both local people and

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visitors could better appreciate what they were seeing. As H noted, as older people die, the stories of the place are lost. She felt that these stories should be held on to – they help create a greater sense of place, inform people about the land, and encourage people to care for important places. L and M, for example, spoke of the Short sisters, well known and well-loved local identities, who had been a very strong link to the past. Their cottage still remains, but is not protected in any way.

Viticulture and forestry

As noted earlier, people generally were not concerned at the sudden and recent spread of vineyards across the lower landscape, enjoying both the visual aspect as well as the vitality the industry had brought to the area. But concern was expressed by H and I about terracing hillsides for vineyards, which was considered to be visually intrusive (this has occurred only to a limited extent so far). As H and L note, developing vineyards, if done without consideration, could also obliterate important signs of the past, such as old ruins, sod walls and historic trees, and destroy archaeological sites.

While there has been little forestry established to date, K and L were concerned that if it expanded it could change the visual and cultural landscape in a major way. There was also a suggestion that there should be buffers between vineyards and historic areas, and between vineyards and residential development.

Loss of access

Roaming, or ability to wander freely on foot through properties owned by other people, was mentioned by many interviewees as being greatly valued. In the past, the absence of development meant an almost unrestricted ability to move through the landscape. Owners accepted this and there was an implicit trust that unwritten rural laws (shutting gates, not disturbing at lambing time) would be respected. A number of interviewees (e.g. B, H, J) expressed sorrow at the gradual ‘closing off’ of the landscape from people due to the increasing limitations from fences, houses, vineyards and different expectations of new landowners.

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Integrity of pastoral farming

There was some concern (e.g. E, H, J) at the loss of pastoral farming activity in the area – at this stage both Cairnmuir Station and Mt Difficulty Station have been subdivided. From interviewee comments there seems to be a ‘domino effect’ from tenure reviews. Once land was freeholded, the more fertile terraces were subdivided and sold, and became lifestyle lots and vineyards. The upper mountain lands were retained by the Crown and managed by DOC. This left the mid-range hill country which was not able to stand alone as an economic farming unit without the lower flats. Unless the mid- range country could be amalgamated with an existing station, it was difficult to find an economic use and was therefore likely to be further subdivided into ‘lifestyle’ blocks, leading to urbanisation of the hill country. This is an issue not only for the two stations already freeholded, but also for other stations which have not yet been through tenure reviews.

Water races

Some interviewees (e.g. A, C, K) were concerned about the incremental loss of water races. Many of these are historic features in the landscape, and some are still used today for irrigation purposes. They can be lost if owners bulldoze them or fill them, or if they refuse to allow water to be conveyed through their property

Reserve management

Interviewees A and L expressed concern about the growth of weed species in the Bannockburn Sluicings Historic Reserve, including wilding pines. Concerns included the plants damaging the historic features; hiding the features from view; the spread of weeds on to neighbouring properties; and a belief that the sluicings should be preserved visually as they were originally – as a barren landscape. C was concerned that the Post Office Historic Reserve was used predominantly as a short-stay residence for DOC employees rather than a community asset. It was not open to the community as other

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reserves are. It was suggested that it should revert to a public facility so that it could be part of the community once again.

Presbyterian church

As mentioned earlier, many people mentioned the impending sale of the church, and the fact that they would like to see it retained for the community. People referred to its historic importance, the fact that it was built from local funds, and its ongoing role in the spiritual and communal life of the community. It was referred to by E as the ‘heart of the community’. Its significance as part of a cluster with the cenotaph and hall was also mentioned.

Bannockburn store

The store closed in 1973 and is still in the ownership of the family who ran it. It is currently used for storage. Some community members considered it to be a very important building for Bannockburn and were concerned about its state of repair. The building’s owners (also interviewed) were also keen to see the building retained and repaired.

Loss of orchards and trees

Many orchards have been lost from the area, largely replaced by vineyards. This was seen to be losing the diversity of the economic base as well as removing an attractive landscape feature, and a traditional form of land use for the area. H and L spoke of the importance of old trees in the landscape – oaks, fruit trees, lombardy poplars, etc. They are not only attractive landscape features, but also show where and how people used the land in the past. Some of these are 120-140 years old and nearing the end of their lives, and it was felt that a whole cohort of trees will disappear unless replanting occurs.

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4.5 Discussion

The analysis of the interviews reinforced the importance of the context-setting research. Many comments recorded during the interviews would have been unintelligible without the benefit of this background. As it was, the interview data and the contextual data worked in synergy to provide a picture of what was valued and some understanding of why certain aspects were valued.

The outcomes of the interviews were in some respects a surprise. In the context of the then-adopted concept of ‘heritage landscape’ it had been assumed that people would refer primarily to historic and concrete aspects of the landscape (objects, places). A far broader range of values emerged, however.

Physical characteristics of the landscape are certainly important to the insiders - for example, the tussock-covered and tor-studded mountains and the contrasting valleys below. Human-modified aspects of the landscape are also highly valued, including those associated with the mining era, historic structures and historical plantings. Some physical qualities do not relate directly to the land itself, such as the quality of daylight, and the brilliance of the stars (aided by absence of exterior artificial light).

The significance of these material characteristics, however, cannot be teased apart from other aspects of the landscape which were also described as being valued. These include people’s sensory responses to the landscape, and the stories and meanings situated in the landscape and linked to particular places or localised activities. Connections between people in the landscape are expressed as an active part of landscape value, and are described in various ways including reference to spiritual connections, genealogical connections, sense of place, sense of belonging, and ‘knowing’ the landscape through names and stories, and also more physically through work and exploration.

Landscape significance also incorporates past and present activities specific to place. Valued activities include community activities, and land uses such as pastoral farming, orchards and vineyards. Past activities are also valued – both those which no longer

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occur (e.g. gold-mining) and those which are traditional and hence form a link between past and present (e.g. water races, sports). The significance given by many to exploring and walking through the landscape suggests that the ability to move through landscape may also be part of its cultural value. Natural processes are also valued as part of the landscape, such as seasonal changes and weather patterns.

The concerns expressed about landscape change reinforce the premise of the research problem – that the loss or change to distinctive aspects of the landscape can affect not only the physical landscape, but also the histories and stories, community interactions, and traditions of the area. Additionally, there is a strong correspondence between those aspects of the landscape that people reported as being of value (4.3.1 and 4.3.2), and the aspects of the landscape that people were concerned had changed or were likely to change (4.3.3).

In Table 1, the values described above are summarised according to the patterns or responses arising from the above analysis of the interviews.

TABLE 1: Summary of culturally valued aspects of the Bannockburn landscape

¾ natural features (e.g. landforms, vegetation) ¾ historic features (e.g. buildings, landforms, routes) ¾ contemporary features (e.g. vineyards) ¾ sensory impressions (e.g. quality of light, colours and forms of the hills) ¾ spiritual qualities (e.g. embodied myths) ¾ genealogical connections (e.g. prior generations living in the area) ¾ stories, myths (e.g. regarding the gold-mining days) ¾ sense of history (e.g. as conveyed by features and stories) ¾ names (e.g. “Kofuia”, “Bull Spur Road”) ¾ activities (e.g. traditional pastoral farming, walking through the landscape) ¾ physical processes (e.g. seasonal changes) ¾ sense of community (e.g. as linked to Presbyterian Church) ¾ sense of place (e.g. local distinctiveness)

It must be emphasised that these aspects of landscape value are not easily separable components, but rather are strongly interconnected. For example, the sense of history

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appears to be strongly linked to the presence of historic features; sensory impressions relate to people’s perceptions of the physical landscape; and stories and myths are often directly linked to the names of places. The interconnectedness of values will be explored further in subsequent chapters.

4.6 Conclusion

The Bannockburn pilot study set out to discover the range of meanings and values expressed by a community about its ‘heritage landscape’. The outcomes made it clear that ‘insiders’ value their landscapes for a wide variety of reasons. Sensory responses (e.g. scenic or aesthetic values) are certainly important, but many other aspects not captured by a dictionary definition of landscape are also valued. Expressions of what is valued about landscapes do not necessarily differentiate cleanly between physical and non-physical characteristics – both are interlinked aspects of cultural value.

The exercise reinforced the utility of open-ended questions. By not limiting the meaning of ‘heritage landscape’, and allowing interviewees use their own mental constructs to identify what was valued, the study revealed that community expressions of landscape significance have a far wider compass than the dictionary definition would suggest. As discussed in Chapter 3, these outcomes contributed to the decision to alter the research design so that it focused on cultural values in landscapes generally rather than cultural values in ‘heritage landscapes’. Accordingly, the subsequent review of discipline-based approaches was not limited to ‘heritage’, but looked broadly at how different disciplines express landscape meaning and significance.

The Bannockburn pilot study, culminating in the summary of culturally valued aspects of the landscape in Table 1, represents a first step in the development of the proposed landscape models. The next step, a review of ‘outsider’ perspectives of landscape value held by disciplines, is covered in the following chapter.

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CHAPTER 5

DEVELOPING A CROSS-DISCIPLINARY

UNDERSTANDING

5.1 Introduction

This chapter draws from the literature of many disciplines, and two indigenous cultures, in order to establish the ways in which landscapes are understood and the range of values that may be expressed. It discusses the outcomes of research components 2 and 3, which seek to understand the values expressed by landscape-related disciplines and those expressed by other cultural world-views. From these multiple understandings, a cross- disciplinary understanding of landscape value emerges.

Section 5.2 reviews the range of disciplines involved in identifying or assigning significance to landscapes, and their particular areas of interest. Section 5.3 reviews Māori and Aboriginal approaches to landscape which arise from indigenous world-views. Section 5.4 discusses the meanings and values assigned to landscape by all of these groups as a whole, with a focus on clustering information by the type of value expressed, rather than on a disciplinary basis. The findings of the Bannockburn pilot study are then incorporated into a consideration of the nature and range of cultural values in landscapes generally. Through this multi-disciplinary and integrated analysis, some initial propositions emerge. These are developed further in Chapter 6.

5.2 Discipline-based understandings of landscape

Landscape has long been a central theme in geography, landscape architecture and archaeology. In recent decades, other disciplines have also developed an interest in landscapes, both from an environmental viewpoint and from a socio-cultural perspective.

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This section reviews approaches to understanding landscape taken by the main landscape- related disciplines. Some broader philosophical influences on ways of considering space are also touched on.

Geography

Geography’s predominant interest is the physical and cultural components of the earth’s surface. It seeks to understand human-environment interactions, the interrelationships between places, and their comparative physical and cultural content (Fellmann, Gettis, and Gettis 1990). Geography’s traditional approach to the physical world was as a neutral external backdrop to human activities, to be understood in terms of its material and measurable phenomena. This approach is still current, particularly in the branch of geography commonly called ‘physical geography’, which continues to focus on understanding the material phenomena of the world. At the same time, a strong thread of geographic thought has sought to understand how the human culture and activities are determined by the surrounding landscape (see for example Mackinder 1887).

The origins of geography’s parallel interest in the cultural realm (as ‘cultural’ or ‘human’ geography) can be traced to the ‘landscape’ approach developed by Carl Sauer and the Berkley School in the mid-twentieth century. Sauer was heavily influenced by object- oriented geography but had an interest in people’s role in the evolution of landscapes. He proposed that ‘landscape’ should the unifying concept for geography , an opinion that was concurrently supported by American landscape advocate John Brinkerhoff Jackson (Meinig 1979). Sauer, Jackson and English historian W.G. Hoskins set an intellectual context for landscape studies from the mid-twentieth century that was strongly rooted in empiricism, morphological analysis and cultural history (Johnston et al. 2000). From this perspective, geography was essentially a spatial science which sought to understand the development of the human-influenced environment. The space within which human action occurred was considered a neutral medium where human meaning was largely irrelevant, regardless of culture and location.

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Culturally-oriented influences, such as humanism and postmodernism, began to re-shape geography during the mid to late 20th century. Scientific reductionist approaches were challenged, and geographers began to take a strong interest in the symbolic dimensions of human activities, the relevance of historical understanding, and the use of interpretive methods in investigation (Duncan, Johnson, and Schein 2004). The sub-discipline of ‘cultural geography’ emerged, influenced by a growing emphasis on the politics of representation (e.g. Raymond Williams, Stuart Hall), challenges to centrism (e.g. feminist and post-colonial perspectives) and a growing emphasis on reflexive practices (such as the use of ethnography, focus groups and discourse analysis). Landscape became an area of particular interest to cultural geographers, not least through the recognition that it forms a record of various ideologies over time (e.g. Cosgrove 1988). Rather than just the physical phenomena, cultural geographers sought to understand “bodily experiences of the land and the co-fabrication between humans and the earth” (Thrift, 2004:12). There was a growing resistance to spatial determinism, whereby relations between social groups were presented as relations between areas (Collinge 2005). Geographers’ utilitarian and functional approach to landscapes was criticised as ignoring their multiple layers of symbolic meaning and cultural representation. Under such influences, understandings of landscape moved on from Sauer’s classic product of human actions, to a new focus on its subjective and experiential aspects (see for example Tuan 1979, Meinig 1979, Cosgrove 1988, Jackson 1989).

More latterly, geographic thought has moved further to conceptualising the human dimensions of space and spatiality. This ‘spatial turn’ (Crang, 2000) has emerged into prominence in the geography literature from the early 1990s, influenced by developments both within geography and beyond. Sociologist Bruno Latour and philosopher Michel Serres, for example, criticised geography’s ‘tyrannical’ understanding of the world solely in terms of proximity and distance (Serres 1982 cited in Bingham 2000). Latour called for geographers to “differentiate the understanding of being in a space from simply being located on a map” (Latour 1997:179 cited in May and Thrift 2001). Together, they challenged the mutually exclusive ways of presenting the world through myth, literature and science, and offered instead a pluralistic world in which geographers and others could construct maps that were not representative of the physical surroundings but

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instead were “modes of access, ways of orienting ourselves to the concrete world we inhabit” (Bingham 2000: 292). Whereas geographers traditionally considered relationships between objects in the world in terms of measurable space and time, Latour and Serres saw space and time as a consequence of the ways in which bodies relate to one another. Latour’s Actor-Network Theory offers an ‘infra-physical’ language that attempts to move beyond the separate representations of ‘real’ and ‘social’ space and instead proposes a space consisting of networks of association and transformation. Moving beyond the nature-culture dualism, Actor-Network Theory suggests that non-human material artefacts should be considered as members of the human community, as “actants in the human social world” (Gren, 2001: 218) whose agency cannot be considered apart from that of human actors. Latour’s space is therefore a network of transformative inter- actions that create an ever-changing and heterogenous complex of spatial and temporal differentials.

Philosophers Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari also sought to offer a way past binary thinking in understanding space. In proposing a way of considering the forces at work in space, they drew from a biological metaphor of smooth muscles (with seemingly undifferentiated surfaces of single cells whose contractions automatically undulate and flow) and striated muscles (consisting of regular strands of fibres that contract and relax under voluntary control). Applying this metaphor, smooth space consists of points between lines, open intervals, distributed surfaces – a “space of flight and becoming’ (Collinge, 2005: 211). Striated space consists of lines between points, closed intervals, and closed off surfaces. In striated space, pointillism prevails, breaking up space-as- experienced into a distribution of lines, points and spaces. In smooth space, by comparison, Deleuze suggests an “infinite, fractal and chaosmotic abyss” prevails (Doel 2000: 130), whereby space is invaginated and folded, a phenomenon of interval rather than measure.

The Marxist-influenced analysis of space offered by philosopher Henri Lefebvre provides a more structured approach. His ideas, expressed mainly in “The Production of Space” (1974), were not readily available until the English translation appeared in 1991, and hence have only influenced western geographic thought for a relatively short period.

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Lefebvre sought a ‘unitary theory of space’ that, similar to Deleuze and Latour, attempted to bring about a rapprochement between traditionally opposing views of space – physical space, mental space (formal abstractions about space) and social space (the space of social action and sensory phenomena). Apprehending space as separate domains, Lefebvre considered, leads to fragmentation and conceptual dislocations which serve ideological purposes and maintain the status quo. In developing his unitary theory, he sought to empower the socialist struggle against capitalist-driven and -controlled urbanisation. In his ‘spatial triad’ Lefebvre sought to convey the way in which space is actively created as part of capitalist accumulation strategies as well as capture the dynamic interplay of other forces. In his dialectic simplification, he suggested space consists of three components: representations of space (its formal, abstract codification, usually by those in power); representational space (the space of the experiential realm - everyday lived experience) and spatial practices (the patterns of interaction, routes and networks that structure everyday reality, and both link and separate the first two components) (Lefebvre 1974, 1991). His concept of space was not as an inert object but something “organic and fluid and alive” where “interpenetrations – many with different temporalities – get superimposed upon one another to create a present space” (Merrifield 2000: 172).

Such high-level abstractions of the nature of space challenge geography’s more traditional Euclidean approaches. The resulting post-structuralist geography has sought to move beyond a space of absolute and gridded unitary relationships to conveying a fluid space of multiplicities, discontinuities, inconsistencies, folds, repetitions, dislocations and distortions. According to these new understandings, the space that constitutes the world we know is not a single reality, but has “embodied multiverses”, so that to adopt “one external time-space reference according to the notion of ‘objective representation’ is to subjectively choose and construct only one out of many possibly time-space corporealities” (Gren, 2001: 212). Geographers’ space “is not a jigsaw: there is nothing to add up, integrate, subl(im)ate, or summate – space knows only of differentials” (Doel 2000: 126). The role of a poststructuralist geographer, therefore, is “to open up the chaosmotic singularities and multiplicities” (Doel 2000: 132, emphasis in original) and to replace the search for unity with an acceptance of uncertainty and multiplicity.

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A common thread in some of recent writings on the nature of space is the need to move beyond the nature/culture fission. As Ingold (2000) puts it, the entire edifice of Western thought and science has been built on a single underlying fault – that which separates the worlds of humanity and nature. This fission has resulted in the separate understandings of the world offered by the arts and humanities on the one hand and the sciences on the other. As has been discussed above, a number of recent theories on the nature of space have attempted to move beyond the nature/culture divide to new unified ground. In relation to landscape, Ingold compares the “the sterile opposition between the naturalistic view of the landscape as a neutral, external backdrop to human activities and the culturalistic view that every landscape is a particular cognitive or symbolic ordering of space” (Ingold, 2000: 189). To move beyond these, he proposes a ‘dwelling perspective’ in which engagement with the land and its human and non-human components continuously generates both cultural knowledge and bodily substance. People are both discrete entities and organisms within a field of interrelationships, and their life-processes are also the process of formation of the landscapes in which they have lived. The landscape is thus constituted as “an enduring record of – and testimony to – the lives and works of part generations who have dwelt within it and in so doing, have left there something of themselves” (p189).

There are strong echoes here of Bourdieu’s ‘habitus’. A philosopher and sociologist, Bourdieu also sought to transcend a long-standing conceptual dichotomy, but this time between subjectivism and objectivism. For Bourdieu, subjective approaches sought to locate the primary cause of social behaviour in independent free will, while objective approaches set out to establish systems, laws and structures by which human life could be explained. Seeing both approaches as fundamentally paradoxical, Bourdieu proposed a ‘theory of practice’ that transcended both. Human practices, he argued, arise from ‘habitus’, which is the embodiment of systems of social norms, understandings and patterns of behaviour within individual actors (Painter 2000). These systems, while not wholly determining human action, ensure that actors in social groups are inclined to act and react in certain ways (Webb 2002).

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Concepts such as Ingold’s ‘dwelling perspective’ and Bourdieu’s ‘habitus’ enrich the vocabulary of spatial thought. If space is to be understood as a multifaceted whole, it is necessary to move beyond the fundamental dichotomies of western thought (nature/culture, objective/subjective), and even its three-way divisions (such as between the mental, physical and social worlds). As suggested by Lefebvre (1974, 1991), the reassertion of the spatialised body in critical thought is an essential step in reconciling the disjunction between the thinking mind and the acting body. Judith Gerber (1997, cited in Painter 2000) suggests that Bourdieu’s ‘habitus’ also offers a conceptual bridge, being both physical and mental, and, because it both generates and is generated through practice, simultaneously social.

The work of geographer Edward Relph, already touched on in Chapters 1 and 3, drew inspiration from Heidegger’s belief that: “Spaces receive their being from places and not from ‘the space’ … Man’s essential relationship to places, and through them to space, consists in dwelling … the essential property of human existence” (cited in Relph 1976: 28). Through his examination of human experience of place, Relph concluded that the identity of a place is “comprised of three interrelated components, each irreducible to the other – physical features or appearance, observable activities and functions, and meanings or symbols … every identifiable place has unique content and patterns of relationship that are expressed and endure in the spirit of that place” (Relph 1976: 61). His thinking predated much of the recent geographic literature on the nature of space, yet similar themes can be identified – of particular interest are his attempt to be inclusive of both objective and subjective phenomena, and the inclusion of activities and functions within his understanding of place identity.

A further recent development of geographic thought has been an exploration of time in a spatial context. Again, influences can be traced from outside of geography, challenging the concept of time as a consistent and uni-directional flow. For Serres, for example, time does not flow according to a line, but is, like space, turbulent, folded and twisted. These qualities are missed when people confuse the experience of time with the measurement of time (Bingham 2000). People’s experience of time, according to philosopher Maurice Merleau-Ponty is not just of being in the present, but simultaneously being in the past and

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future: “the lived present holds a past and future within its thickness (Merleau-Ponty 1962: 275). Bergson (1991) points out the anomaly that ontological reality is given to things not spatially present, but not to things not temporally present, and suggests instead that reality is experienced as a multiplicity of fused and continual states which are virtually co-present (cited in Crang 2001: 201, 204). Time is thus proposed to be similarly complex and multi-faceted to space.

When considered together, time and space have traditionally been seen as a dualism – space as stasis, and time as the domain of dynamism and progress. Jon May and Nigel Thrift (2001: 2) suggests that this dualism has yet to be seriously challenged by those proposing a more dynamic conception of space. Citing Massey (1994), they propose that this dichotomy needs to be overcome with a recognition that space and time are inextricably interwoven. What is required is a multi-dimensional space-time concept that is able to cope with the multiplicities inherent in both space and time (Massey 1994: 260:1, cited in May and Thrift 2001: 2).

Geographic literature on time-geography has its foundations in the work of Torsten Hägerstrand (1982), who sought to transcend the map so as to incorporate a sense of the rhythm of life. As opposed to a flat map with static patterns, he saw the world as something that was in continual movement and change. Focusing on the corporeal experience of time, he attempted to incorporate the notion of time in spatial geography through the concepts of path and project. To Hägerstrand, project is the entirety of the series of simple or complex tasks needed to be undertaken to reach any goal. Path is a trajectory, at the tip of which is a living subject who is the continuity in the succession of situations. The concept of ‘landscape’ tied path and project together, although Hägerstrand saw no sharp boundary between landscape and society, as the human body is an element in the living landscape.

Hägerstrand presented his concepts in simple graphical form, associated with detailed textual information. Gren (2001) suggests that for this reason Hägerstrand has been read as trying to reduce the physicality of life to lines on paper, ignoring the interpretive dimension. However, this is a miscall of the intention of time-geographic representation

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– Gren suggests that such abstractions offer “a common language of corporeality to which different Observers can relate their own systems of meaning. Such abstractions make visible what otherwise would have remained invisible or taken-for-granted, viewed from the inside of the mapped trajectories.” (Gren 2001: 214 ) (emphasis in original).

The thrust of geographic literature on space-time is to offer understandings of space that are dynamic rather than static: “we need a sense of the event and process of time, rather than letting thinking be dominated by static representations” (Crang and Travlou 2001: 206). Rather than seeing space as a container for images of the past, to which ‘time’ is added, geographers such as Mike Crang, Jon May and Nigel Thrift suggest that the nature of space-time needs to be re-thought as a whole. Geography’s traditional focus on mapping has led to a “geography of traces of actions, rather than the beat of living footfalls” (Crang, 2001: 194). But the experience of time is as multiple and heterogenous (May and Thrift 2001) as the experience of space. In making sense of space and time together, it is necessary “to begin to think through space-time as the fluid, not just the container” (Crang, 2001: 194). It is necessary to be inclusive of social practice (May and Thrift 2001) and pay attention to the phenomenological experience of the moving body - “not just bodies moving through space but making it” (Crang 2001: 194).

In summary, there is a recent lively literature that seeks to move beyond the “familiar and unhelpful dualism” of the “foundational categories of Space and Time” (May and Thrift, 2001: 1). However, as May and Thrift point out, the discussion is still largely at the level of metaphor. Various theoretical abstractions of space and time are offered, but as yet there appears to be no widespread application of timespace concepts to real-life scenarios. Some leads, however, can be concluded from the literature. As Mike Crang and Nigel Thrift point out in their introduction to Thinking Space (Crang and Thrift 2000), space can never be an objective given – “it has a history that is bound up in ways of knowing and creates different objects of knowledge” (p2). The human experience of time and space is through action and interaction: it is a complex and multi-layered or networked phenomena that, to use Deleuze’s metaphor, constantly flickers and shimmers (Doel 2000). Neither time nor space can be described in simple, objective terms, and neither

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can be conceived of in isolation – instead, they together form a unity that May and Thrift (2001) call TimeSpace.

As a final observation, a common theme in the recent explorations of the nature of space and time has been a determination to move beyond dualistic thinking. The post-structural conceptualisations vie to span the conceptual divisions of nature and culture, of objectivity and subjectivity, of absolutism and relativism, and any number of other dichotomies, and instead to propose new approaches that are inclusive of all of these. By some theorists, this is offered as a single all-encompassing metaphor (such as Deleuze’s rhizomes (Doel 2000)) and by others as a novel bisection (e.g. Hägerstrand’s diorama (1982) or triad (e.g. Lefebvre’s unitary theory of space (1974, 1991)) that offer fresh perspectives on the nature of space and time.

Today, then, geographers’ understandings of space and landscape draws from both scientific and humanist traditions, offering ‘objective’ spatial and systems views of space, as well as cultural and post-positive understandings. Approaches to landscape vary from the analysis of landforms and physical systems, to the humanist interpretation of place as an existential concept and the production and reproduction of cultures through social practices as they occur in time and space.

Archaeology

Archaeology seeks to understand the human past, primarily through physical objects and forms arising from prior human activity in the land. Through chronological ordering and interpretation of these traces, archaeologists aim to identify the cultural processes and purposes that lay behind their creation (Barrett 1999). Until the later decades of the 20th century, archaeology was essentially a science of the past, concerned with time sequences and spatial distribution of cultural artefacts (Tilley 1994). More recently, landscape concepts have offered a way of improving understandings of the relationships between people and their environment, by looking beyond single sites and artefact assemblages to the physical context of sites, the relationships between sites, and the meanings of space and place to past cultures (Orser 1996). Early archaeological approaches to landscape

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studies were strongly influenced by positivist approaches, so that early landscape archaeology was strictly empirical. Such methods are now giving way to a greater recognition of human practices in the landscape (Llobera 2000), consideration of myth and meaning (Layton and Ucko 1999), and the deterministic role of the landscape in cultures (Stoddart 2000). This ‘cultural turn’ has resulted in greater consideration of ideology and symbolism of landscape features, issues of power and privilege, and the role of landscape in culture formation (e.g. Miller and Tilley 1984; Cosgrove 1993; Rowntree and Conkey 1980; Bender 1993). In this respect landscape is no longer viewed as a passive space, but a dynamic and active element in the evolution of the society using it (Benes and Zvelebil 1999).

Design disciplines

Within the design disciplines, landscape architecture has the closest association with landscape. It focuses primarily on “configuring landscape” (Swaffield 2002:xi) to create particular qualities of space, form, meaning and experience. As a discipline, landscape architecture originated in attempts to apply aesthetic principles relating to ‘natural’ and ‘formal’ beauty to garden design (Jellicoe and Jellicoe 1975). Landscape design continues to be its primary focus, drawing from design philosophies as disparate as classical principles of composition (Crowe 1958), ecological principles (Spirn 1998), human need (Fairbrother 1970) and the “spirit of the place” (Lassus 1998).

The discipline also specialises in the assessment of landscape values, making normative judgements about landscape quality or its social significance (Swaffield and Lucas 1999). A variety of methods are used to assess landscape quality, ranging from ecologically based methods (Swaffield and Lucas 1999), to the mapping of physical features (Boffa- Miskell 2000), assessing representations of landscape (Lister 1999), mapping of landscape character types (Rackham 1999), and consulting with communities to elicit concepts of landscape quality (Lucas 1996). Swaffield (1991) notes that the majority of research and writing on landscape within the discipline has focused on macro-scale influences on meaning (such as social ideology) but that little empirical work has been done on everyday social meanings. In New Zealand at least, a strong visual emphasis

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still dominates although this has been broadened in recent years to include a greater cultural awareness and some consideration of sustainability issues (Rackham 1999).

Other design disciplines such as architecture and urban design focus predominantly on seeking to improve the utility and attractiveness of the built environment, although they may also have a role in assessing the values of the built environment. Design philosophies are influenced by the paradigms of the period. Modernist approaches, for example, were epitomised by Le Corbusier’s ‘machines for living in’ – a design philosophy that emphasised function and efficiency, and shunned traditional references. Other recent design approaches assert the continuing relevance of traditional community and neighbourhood forms (Ellin 1999). Critical regionalism, for example, proposes that the local culture should be self-consciously cultivated in building and urban design. The materials, crafts, topography, climate and light of the specific place should be incorporated rather than global design criteria (Frampton 1985). Other approaches such as New Urbanism adopt a more standardised ‘village’ form on the basis that such design features help generate a sense of community (Arendt, Leccese, and McCormick 1999). The western tradition of landscape appreciation continues to be dominated by the visual sensory response, shaped primarily by culturally defined concepts of aesthetics and design (Buggey 2000; Howett 1997).

Ecology-based disciplines

Landscape ecology developed in the latter part of the 20th century, when ecologists seeking to apply ecological principles at a landscape scale were influenced by geographical understandings of landscape features. Landscape is perceived by ecologists as “a complex whole that is more than the sum of its composing parts” (Antrop and Van Eetvelde 2000:2). Four main landscape models are used, viewing landscape variously as a geographical context for ecological communities; as an environmental system; as a system of interacting ecosystems; or as a holistic system of natural and human elements (Ingegnoli 2002). Matters of interest include the natural and human forces determining patterns in landscapes, the responses of humans to these patterns, and the nature of energy and nutrient flows between landscape components (Green 2001).

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The related discipline of cultural or human ecology studies the relationship between a culture group and the natural environment it occupies (Fellmann, Gettis, and Gettis 1990). It focuses on physical and biotic characteristics, and the flows of energy and materials within human habitats (Lawrence 2003). The dynamics of landscape are also of interest to historical ecologists, who take the approach that landscape forms are determined by socio-historical structures such as class, kin and interest groups, in combination with physical structures such as climate, geology and topography (Anschuetz, Wilshusen, and Scheick 2001).

Humanist disciplines

A raft of humanist disciplines also interest themselves in the relationship between humans and their physical surroundings. For cultural anthropologists, landscape has what Hirsch (1995:1) calls a “submerged presence and significance” in the study of culture groups; firstly as an objective frame for study, and secondly in reference to meanings imputed by local people. Anthropologists consider how social identity and social roles are mapped on to the landscape, and the role of landscapes in sustaining memory and tradition (Anschuetz, Wilshusen, and Scheick 2001). Ethnographers also have an interest in how landscapes become a form of codified history, whereby perceptions and values attached to landscape fix memories to places (Stewart and Strathern 2003). Sociologists similarly seek to understand the relationships between social groups and their surroundings (Hayden 1995). From a social constructivist perspective, for example, landscape is a “symbolic environment created by a human act of conferring meaning on nature and the environment” (Greider and Garkovich 1994:1). Landscape carries multiple meanings that reflect the cultural identities of those peoples that relate to it.

Such cultural approaches to landscape can be contrasted with disciplines such as psychology and art history which seek to understand emotional response to landscape experience (Appleton 1997). Environmental psychology, for example, suggests that identity is defined through memories, ideas, preferences, meanings and conceptions about behaviour relevant to the physical setting (Ellin 1999). Self-identity is thus linked to

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place-identity. The spiritual meaning of places is also explored in theology. Lane (2001) for example, proposes that landscape is “a constructed way of seeing the world which is distinctive to a people, their culture, and even their anticipated means of encountering the holy” which enables a “personal and transcendent experience of sacred places” (pp42, 131). The relationship between landscape and art has long been of interest to art historians. Simon Schama (1996), for example, explores the links between western culture and the natural surroundings in which it developed, and how the “veins of myth and memory that lie beneath the surface” of landscape is expressed in art (p14).

Landscape has also become an object of study for historians. Environmental history is concerned with the “origins, meanings, connection, and consequences of environmental change, and the social, cultural and economic changes connected to it” (Pawson and Brooking 2002:iii). Conventional history has also been presented from a ‘landscape’ approach, classically by Fernand Braudel, who synthesised history, geography, economics, demography, sociology, archaeology and ethnology in histories such as Memory and the Mediterranean (Braudel 2001). The variant of landscape history draws from both conventional ecology and environmental history, seeking to construct an account of the long-term processes of landscape development (Aalen 2001). Using historic resources, fieldwork and scientific techniques it examines how and why a landscape developed over time (Marcucci 2000). Studies of the morphology of landscapes, such as the work of W.G. Hoskins in rural England (Meinig 1979), and urban morphogenetics (Whitehand and Larkham 1992), also focus on material change over time, seeking to gain an historical understanding of current forms.

In summary, Figure 13 offers a visual portrayal of the range of disciplines with an interest in landscape. Each discipline has a particular approach to understanding landscape (and hence in determining significance).

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FIGURE 13: A representation of the disciplines interested in landscape (adapted from Appleton (1997:190))1

In Fig 14, an attempt has been made to portray these different disciplinary approaches by indicating key aspects of landscape that they taken an interest in. In presenting this diagram, I am aware that there is a great deal more cross-fertilisation between the disciplines than appears here (landscape architects, for example, have a keen interest in ecological processes and the symbolic power of landscape). In presenting this simplified version, however, I am attempting to indicate the different conceptual ‘facets’ of landscape that have arisen or are pursued from within particular disciplines. In other words, landscape means different things to different disciplines. The diagram indicates that each discipline has a sectoral interest in the ‘whole’ that is landscape.

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FIGURE 14: A representation of the main facets of landscape of interest to disciplines.

5.3 Indigenous understandings of landscape

Quite different understandings of landscape may be experienced by ‘insiders’ with a long history of interaction with a landscape, such as indigenous peoples. There is no universal relationship between indigenous groups and landscapes - their experiences and world- views are as varied as the cultures themselves - but strong cultural-historical relationships

1 This figure is based on a figure used by Jay Appleton (1997) to show that the ‘landscape’ interest is a peripheral concern of many disciplines, but that cross-disciplinary interactions engender the vitality of the landscape concept. I have adapted his presentation method to convey different information.

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tend to develop where groups have long descent relationships with a particular landscape (Anschuetz, Wilshusen, and Scheick 2001). Cultural groups whose relationships with a landscape have lasted for many centuries or millennia are usually strongly attached to the land through genealogy and ideology, and land may be their primary source of cultural identity (Russell 2000; Smith 1999; Allison 1999; Keenan 2002). Māori and Aboriginal cultures, for example, have developed long-term and intimate connections with their landscapes over many generations (e.g. over 40,000 years for Aboriginal Australians, and around 750-800 years for New Zealand Māori (Higham, Anderson, and Jacomb 1999)). In some instances that relationship may have been interrupted by abrupt changes such as inter-tribal conquest or colonisation, but their cosmologies founded in landscape remain fundamentally important to cultural identity.

In Māori cosmology, for example, the known world originated with the union of Rangi (male sky) and Papatūānuku (female earth). This union produced numerous gods who embody the elements, the physical world, and all living things (Taua 2003). All aspects of the environment, including people, are thus descended from the gods, so that all Māori can trace their descent back through gods to Papatūānuku, the earth herself (Reilly 2004). Ancestors are also embodied in natural features such as mountains, and their deeds and possessions are recalled in landscape features. Māori are thus related through descent to the land herself, to ancestors embodied in landscape forms, and to all other aspects of the environment.

As well as this cosmological connection, tribal groups (iwi) are linked to specific tribal territories (rohe). A continuum of generations and experiences attach particular iwi to particular localities and landscapes. Each hapū (sub-tribe) or whānau (family) possesses a whakapapa (genealogy) that locates it into a known portion of the landscape (Keenan 2002). The term ‘ancestral landscape’ is sometimes used by Māori to refer to these unseverable links between tribe and their landscape (Māori Heritage Council 1998). Establishing one’s tribal identity requires recitation of familial whakapapa, with specific reference to the particular mountains, rivers and other landmarks to which the person, as a tribal member, is connected. These recitations are common to others of the same genealogy and are sustained in tribal histories, traditions and rituals (Keenan 2002).

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Landscape meanings are integral to Māori culture and spirituality. In addition to their genealogical and tribal significance, landscapes contain wāhi tapu (sacred places), which are places of power and sometimes ritual communication with ancestors. Other important landscape features may include occupation sites, traditional routes and cultural resources such as mahinga kai. Certain sites are used for specific ceremonies or traditional activities which are important in maintaining linkages to the landscape (Coffin 1997). Place names evoke ancestors and the locations of historic and mythological events.

For Australian Aboriginals, cultural identity is similarly based in place and ancestral associations. In Aboriginal cosmology, the land was sung into existence by ancestral beings, who left behind songs, sacred objects and practices that commemorate their acts of creation (Morphy 1993; Bourassa 1991). These ancestors also created physical phenomena such as land features and water holes (Sinatra and Murphy 1999) which may be transformations of the actual bodies of the ancestral beings (Taylor 1994).

Relationships with the landscape and its powers are maintained through rituals recreating the actions of the ancestors, including following the songlines while hunting and gathering (Bourassa 1991). Topographic features act as boundary markers, orientation points, and play a central role in concepts of creation, spiritual power and world order (Tilley 1994). Through such places, power flows from ancestral beings to the land and to living people. Landscapes are thus redolent with meaning and spiritual power (Smith 1999). Barsh (1999) uses the term ‘embeddedness’ to describe “this textual quality of a long-travelled and extensively coadapted landscape”, a term which emphasises “the layers of linguistic, social, spiritual and ecological knowledge and meaning that rest beneath the visible panorama” (p18).

Indigenous understandings of landscape (or its equivalent) encompass a myriad of interrelated spiritual and cultural concepts. This is exemplified by research carried out in New Zealand by Khyla Russell, who found that the English word ‘landscape’ was used by Kai Tahu informants to encompass the land and sea, flora and fauna, whakapapa, placenames, personal and cultural identity, spirituality and sustenance (Russell 2000).

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A holistic approach to the landscape concept is thus more strongly aligned with indigenous world-views than single-discipline approaches. In a heritage context, the increasing interest in landscape approaches in New Zealand was described by a Kai Tahu leader as “the kind of holistic and comprehensive kōrero [discussion] that Māori have talked about for ages but that the professional heritage sector has often dismissed while it focused on its more discipline-oriented interests” (Gerard O’Regan in Stephenson 2003a:9).

5.4 Meanings and values associated with landscape

The overview of disciplines and indigenous world-view has revealed a multiplicity of ways of considering landscape. In order to move towards the development of a conceptual model, this broad array is now reconsidered and grouped according to the meanings and values assigned to landscape, drawing also on the outcomes of the Bannockburn study.

Landscape as physical features

The physical forms of the landscape are of primary importance for natural science disciplines. Geological, biological and ecological approaches to landscape generate information about forms, features, systems and environmental typologies. The physical features of landscapes are also of primary importance in many archaeological approaches, which assign significance to archaeological sites and broader collections of features. Geographical and planning-based studies also generate information about the physical (urban and rural) landscape, which may include structures, landforms and features.

The material aspects of the landscape are also a fundamental part of its value to insiders. In the Bannockburn study, for example, all of the interviewees referred to physical features of the landscape, such as mountains, hills, streams, vegetation and structures.

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Landscape dynamics

Processes of the landscape are also important to many. Ecologists are particularly interested in ecological interactions, which may include “flows of energy, material and information interwoven in real, perceived and symbolic ways” (Terkenli 2001:198) or the “interactions of landscape qualities, functions and human values with economic action” (Soini 2001:226). Geographical studies may also seek to understand patterns of human interaction with the land, human systems, and dynamics such as transport systems, growth and change (Anderson and Gale 1992). Attribution of value may be from a utilitarian viewpoint (e.g. environmental services rendered by a landscape), or an intrinsic viewpoint (e.g. the value of a system in its own right). Processes valued by interviewees in the Bannockburn study included natural processes such as seasonal changes, and human systems such as the irrigation schemes based on water races.

The social practices or traditions which relate to a particular place may also be considered to be part of its meaning or value. Traditional activities give continuity to how a community creates and occupies its landscape, and sustain a group’s sense of place and time in the landscape (Anschuetz, Wilshusen, and Scheick 2001). Long periods of occupation lead to accretions of meaning and adjustments of habit, so that the landscape eventually represents not only people’s physical actions but also their ways of thinking, and their social and political structures (Atkins, Simmons, and Roberts 1998). Where repetitive social practices extend over time, stories and activities become embedded into the landscape (Ayres and Mauricio 1999; Tilley 1994). Landscape thus becomes “an active way in which we express ourselves and ideas as a people and as individuals” (Rubertone 1989:53). Valued practices identified in the Bannockburn study, for example, included farming practices (e.g. pastoral farming, orcharding), community events (e.g. sporting traditions) and walking through the landscape.

Landscape as cultural identity

It is widely accepted that the interaction of people and place generates a distinctive landscape (Groth and Bressi 1997), but landscape itself can also be seen to have a

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significant role in generating cultural value. Hirsch (1995), for example, suggests the ‘space’ of landscape is active in human social relations. In this sense landscape is another actor in events - a medium rather than a container of action. As a medium, landscape is not necessarily neutral, but may be invested with power and meaning (Tilley 1994).

Individual and group identity can thus be strongly enmeshed with landscape and its cultural values. For those with a long association with a particular place, the landscape can become imbued with ancestral associations (Smith 1999; Klaricich 2001; Māori Heritage Council 1998). Long association also develops a deep knowledge of the landscape and the resources that sustain the group both physically and spiritually. Custom, ritual and myth can strengthen attachment to place by reaffirming the enduring relationship between people and place (Relph 1976). Landscape is thus not only personal and tribal history made visible (Tuan 1977), but also an ongoing reinforcement of identity, spirituality and sustenance (Russell 2000). Out of such long interactions can arise a detailed knowledge of the land (Anschuetz, Wilshusen, and Scheick 2001), and a sense of deep care and concern for that place (Relph 1976) which may be an integral part of local custom and ideology.

Even over a short period of acquaintance, the qualities of a landscape can generate feelings of belonging, rootedness and familiarity. In Bannockburn, several interviewees referred to a sense of belonging or attachment, even when they had not been long resident. Relph (1976) suggests that for many people, profound attachment to place is “as necessary, and perhaps as unavoidable, as close relationships with people” (p41), and suggests that deep psychological and existential ties link people to certain places. People draw on their knowledge and experience of the landscape to give meaning, certainty and significance to their lives (Tilley 1994).

Aesthetic beauty

Another form of cultural value is the idea of the aesthetic beauty of visual phenomena. As a formal concept, landscape aesthetics as we understand it today originated in

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Romantic art and writing (Meinig 1979), or possibly earlier in classic Greek and Roman poetry (Williams 1973). While such concepts may still largely guide some forms of landscape assessment (Swaffield and Foster 2000), appreciation of visual experiences can be affected by many other influences such as cultural and social meaning (Bourassa 1991) and associations, memory and knowledge (Tuan 1989). The formal western landscape aesthetic is not necessarily shared in other cultural settings. The Kunwinjku people of Arnhem Land (Australia), for example, do not have a language of aesthetics as understood in western terms, but rather are concerned with the religious, social and historic associations of places and the species that live there, speaking of the ancestral power of a site rather than its physical attractiveness (Ramsay and Paraskevopoulos 1994).

The beauty of the landscape was referred to by a number of Bannockburn interviewees, but the visual aesthetic was not necessarily separated from other associations such as historic significance.

Sense of place

A number of Bannockburn interviewees referred to a ‘sense of place’ or used similar terminology to reflect their attachment to the landscape. In literature, this concept has been variously called “sense of place” (e.g. Lowenthal 1997:185; Simon 1998:15), “spirit of place” (Relph 1976:48; Lassus 1998:192) or genius loci (Seddon 1997:115; Simon 1998:13). Representing more than just a summation of setting, activities and meanings, it constitutes “the very individuality and uniqueness of place” (Relph 1976:48), arguably based in sensory experiences of the environment linked to knowledge and memories (Soini 2001). For the Bannockburn interviewees, the ‘sense of place’ and ‘sense of community’ appeared to be strongly interlinked. The loss of communal activities and places to meet was a concern that arose in the context of discussions about the landscape.

Different communities or culture groups may have diverse experiences and varied ways of expressing attachment, and even the concept of ‘sense of place’ may be specific to western culture (Seddon 1997). Varied values (both material and non-material) can be

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expressed by people of different communities even where they share the same landscape (Sinatra and Murphy 1999; Anschuetz, Wilshusen, and Scheick 2001; Cooney 1999; Bourassa 1991). Commenting on values associated with the Roper Bar landscape in Northern Australia, for example, Morphy (1993) notes that while European and Aboriginal people have co-existed and interacted in the same area over a long period of time, they appear in some respects to occupy different conceptual spaces and times.

Temporal values

The temporal dimensions of landscape are another important aspect of its significance. Landscapes have a “quality of simultaneity” (Anschuetz, Wilshusen, and Scheick 2001:186), containing layers of the past which act as the seat of collective memory (Lowenthal 1997). As described by a Bannockburn interviewee, they provide a visual continuity between ‘then’ and ‘now’. They hold clues about past human societies and their material and social manifestations, and are thus of interest to disciplines that are concerned with the past. They may reflect aspects of the past that are both treasured and disliked by today’s communities. In Bannockburn, for example, the dam which created a lake of the Kawarau River was still a bitter memory for some because of the changes it wrought on the landscape, even though others enjoyed the recreational opportunities it created.

The significance of place depends to a large extent on memory and association (Tuan 1989). Over time, such as with Māori in Central Otago, relationships will develop which are unique to that landscape and fundamental to cultural identity. Even shorter periods of involvement with a landscape – a lifetime or several generations – will generate cultural values which may differ greatly to those of an ‘outsider’ (such as a tourist) whose engagement is limited to an immediate sensory impression.

Landscape as ideology

Landscapes reflect a culture’s beliefs, practices and technologies, and also function to maintain those same processes. In this way they become part of the shared set of ideas,

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memories and feelings that create culture (Meinig 1979). A landscape and its meanings reinforce each other: places in the landscape help to recall stories that are associated with them; the naming of features links them to stories and meanings, and reflects a shared understanding of their cultural significance. Over time, each community and generation will impose its own cognitive map on the world it receives from the previous generation (Anschuetz, Wilshusen, and Scheick 2001). Landscapes thus come to reflect ideology – the “representation of the world held by the dominant social group, and the rationale which guides their everyday actions” (Miller and Tilley 1984:10) and the “ideas about nature, cause, time, and person” which are taken by a society as given (Leone 1984:26).

Landscape as symbol

Some interpretations of landscape lift it away from the material world even further, and suggest that it is the set of perceptions existing within a particular culture relating to the space it occupies (Mulk and Bayliss-Smith 1999), or a representation of the surroundings (Cosgrove and Daniels 1988). Landscape can thus be read as a cosmology that exists in symbols that may only be understood through the social processes that created it (Rowntree and Conkey 1980).

Anthropologist Barbara Bender suggests that landscapes of different cultural groups operate on very different spatial and temporal scales, using an example of Australian Aboriginals’ mythological ‘grid’ of creation myths which forms both a map of resources, camps and hunting-grounds, as well as a key to rituals and ceremonies that link people to place (Bender 1993).

Media such as stories, art and theatre create and convey the symbolic and mythical aspects of landscapes (Cosgrove 1993). Landscape is also valued as a source of artistic inspiration (Lassus 1998). Painting, poetry, prose, photography, song, dance, film and other media frequently draw from landscape and, through their interpretations, can add to its cultural meaning and value. For example, the landscape-defining volcanic cone of Mount Taranaki in New Zealand has been painted and photographed repeatedly over the past 160 years, reflecting and creating a visual icon (Walrond 2004). Such

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representations can reflect varying aspects of what is valued – romantic or classic associations, personal or political concerns, or reference to history, myths and ancestors. Aboriginal art, for example, reflects their mode of experiencing the landscape as a place of ancestral powers and spirit-beings rather than a detached outsider’s view of the physical land-forms (Bourassa 1991).

Names, songs and stories also reflect community relationships with landscapes. They provide continuity with the past, and link meanings to places. For groups with very long associations with an area, names and stories may be carried forward over many centuries, such as the Bannockburn story of the Bouakai. An Australian Aboriginal, writing about names, notes that features in the landscape are like signposts, conveying names and stories and “giving us our ‘knowing’ of our country” (Bancroft 2002:2). Research on the naming of places in high country stations in New Zealand found that names of fields and landscape features by station owners referenced both natural features and human associations (Dominy 1995). Names in the Bannockburn area similarly reflect its past, often carrying forward the names of people (e.g. Smith’s Gully) or of activities that occurred (e.g. Quartzville). In reference to Māori naming of places, Salmond (1982) notes that the histories songs, proverbs and oratory of Māori descent groups contain stories of how their ancestors claimed the territory, naming landmarks as they travelled. Hardesty (2000) suggests that place-names are vital to cultural identity, and give insight to future generations into the cultural meanings of landscapes. The power of naming ‘locks’ places and knowledge together, so that the past has existence in the present through the continuity provided by names and their associated stories.

5.5 The range of cultural values in landscapes

Landscape thus has a multiplicity of values founded in its physical forms, the activities that occur within it, and the meanings that are vested in it. Although each discipline may have a relatively narrow interest, as a whole they display a broad array of concepts of what landscape is, and, following from this, an equally broad range of aspects that may be considered significant (see Figure 14 above). The two indigenous groups, on the other

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hand, see landscape (or its equivalent) as an interlinked whole, but including such aspects as its physical forms, its role in sustenance, genealogy (both human and divine), cultural identity, and spirituality. It would be interesting to compare these value sets, but this is outside of the research agenda. The aim here, rather, is to bring together the array of types of values that might be expressed, so as to gain a basic understanding of the totality of values in the landscape.

Accordingly, Table 2 sets out an unsorted array of the range of key values that have emerged from the review of disciplinary and indigenous values above.

TABLE 2: Aspects of landscape of interest to disciplines and indigenous groups ¾ scenery ¾ activities and practices ¾ aesthetics ¾ power ¾ natural landforms ¾ meanings ¾ flora and fauna ¾ stories ¾ human-made features ¾ memory ¾ historic and archaeological ¾ names features ¾ ancestral relationships, ¾ ecological processes genealogies ¾ human systems ¾ literature, art, song ¾ histories ¾ myth ¾ ideologies ¾ symbol ¾ sense of place ¾ spirituality

This array shows strong parallels with the outcomes of the Bannockburn study (see Table 3 below). A similar range of values are of importance to community members, even though they may be expressed in less formal terms than in disciplinary studies.

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TABLE 3: Summary of culturally valued aspects of the Bannockburn landscape (from Table 1)

¾ natural features ¾ historic features ¾ contemporary features ¾ sensory impressions ¾ spiritual qualities ¾ genealogical connections ¾ stories, myths ¾ sense of history ¾ names ¾ activities ¾ physical processes ¾ sense of community ¾ sense of place

Two key insights can be drawn from this. Firstly, it is clear that ‘insiders’ (community members, indigenous people and others with close associations) are likely to express a broad range of values, incorporating some or all of those listed in the above tables. Members of disciplines, on the other hand, may well have an intricate and detailed knowledge of their subject area but will be limited to that. Any single disciplinary approach to defining significance, therefore, is unlikely to represent the total range of values expressed by an attached community or culture group.

There are clearly many overlaps between insider and outsider value sets, but the landscape that is significance to insiders is a far broader phenomenon than any of the discipline-originated facets shown in Figure 14 above. This notion is represented by Figure 15, which indicates how attached communities and culture groups experience and value landscape as a whole: all or any of these aspects of landscape may be of significance.

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FIGURE 15: The holistic landscape of insiders, compared to the sectoral interests of disciplines

The second insight is that, even if the contributions of all disciplines were considered together, they would be unlikely to convey localised ‘insider’ values unless insiders themselves were also engaged in determining values. Disciplines, by their very nature, are ‘outsiders’. This is not to say that insider views are necessarily more ‘right’ than those of outsiders. Insider views may have their own limitations, which may include, for example, having a shallow or one-sided view of significance. What is crucial is that both forms of knowledge are essential to understand landscape as a whole.

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5.6 Cleaving

The tendency to focus on a particular facet of landscape deserves further discussion, as it is a key reason why it is so difficult to achieve an integrated understanding. The term ‘cleaving’ will be used to describe the way in which the holistic concept of landscape can be consciously or unconsciously divided into parts. The use of ‘cleave’ in this sense is based on its Shorter Oxford Dictionary definition of “split, especially along the grain or line of cleavage” and “separate or sever from by dividing or splitting” (Trumble and Stevenson 2002).

Cleaving is not necessarily problematic. It often derives from a disciplinary specialty, and offers the advantage of simplification or reduction, and is an effective way of understanding a particular aspect of landscape in a detailed way. It becomes a problem, however, if that representation of landscape is assumed (by the discipline or by users of the information) to represent the whole. As Greider (1994) notes The particular landscape that comes to dominate and thereby influence social actions and allocation of social resources is that representing the group exercising the greatest degree of power. Three key factors underlie power in these processes – the ability to define what constitutes information (i.e. the ability to construct knowledge), the control of this socially-constructed information, and the symbolic mobilization of support. (p17)

Cleaving does not only occur along disciplinary boundaries, but also along conceptual divisions. One form of cleaving, for example, is to divide nature and culture. Even though it has been supplanted in many fields by an understanding that the two are indivisible (e.g. Ingold 1993; Thayer 2003), this conceptual division still continues to influence disciplines in a fundamental way. Landscape ecology, for example, which has its roots in the sciences, approaches landscape as nature, whereas historic landscape evaluation, which has its roots in the humanities, approaches landscape as culture.

Another form of cleaving is between culture groups. This occurs if landscapes are analysed or evaluated from the point of view of a single culture. An example would be

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using a western ‘picturesque’ analysis to determine which types of landscape are significant, while ignoring the ways that other cultures may value the same landscape. Another example would be if a city’s slum clearance scheme failed to recognise the significance of places and patterns to a minority culture group.

Cleaving can also occur between urban and rural landscapes. The extremes of wilderness and urban areas are considered by some to be included within the concept of landscape, but others are more selective. In writing of the cultural landscapes of America, for example, Alanen ignores cities and wilderness and confines himself to such places as gardens, parks and rural pastoral scenes (Alanen and Melnick 2000). English landscape morphologist and historian W.G. Hoskins confines his analysis to rural landscapes, and to Stilgoe, landscape was “essentially rural, the product of traditional agriculture interrupted here and there by traditional artifice, a mix of natural and man-made form” (Stilgoe 1982:3). Others such as Lynch (1976) and Hayden (1995) limit their interest in landscapes to urban forms.

Cleaving also occurs along objective/subjective or tangible/intangible lines. Some landscape approaches see landscape as a physical object which can be understood in functionalist or positivist terms. In physical geography and more traditional forms of landscape archaeology, for example, landscape analysis is firmly focused on the perceivable and measurable. Landscape ecology similarly views landscape as a scientific object (Ingegnoli 2002). At the other extreme landscape is viewed as symbol or myth; a cultural image symbolising surroundings, which are themselves further transformed in meaning by every study, or artistic or literary representation (Cosgrove and Daniels 1988).

A further form of cleaving can occur between outsider and insider perspectives. The scenic sense of landscape is the view of a detached outsider, and is an immediate sensory response. An insider, one who has formed relationships with the landscape over time, experiences a landscape of subjective meaning (Bourassa 1991). The idea of landscape in most disciplines implies an outsider’s point of view, whereas a community member’s account is from an insider’s perspective.

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The multi-dimensional nature of landscape, however, demands that all of its aspects must be appreciated for a holistic understanding. As Tilley notes, the nature/culture divide is unhelpful as people and their environment are components of the same world (Tilley 1994). Similarly, it is unhelpful to confine ‘landscape’ to only an urban or rural form, which reflect only a greater or lesser cultural manipulation of the environment. Concentrating on the cultural values of a single culture group may be informative but does not convey the values of the landscape as a whole, and may, in application, disenfranchise culture groups that are already experiencing cultural oppression. Subjective and objective values will be present in every landscape, and outsider and insider views of landscape may differ but both are important.

To fully understand landscape values, therefore, it is important to be aware of all of its aspects, and to be aware of the tendency for cleaved information to be presented as representing a ‘truth’ about the landscape as a whole. Any model must include an awareness of the tendency for information about landscapes to be presented in a cleaved fashion.

5.7 Conclusion

A fundamental premise of the research strategy was that all expressions of cultural value were relevant to understanding the cultural values of the landscape as a whole. Any model of landscape values, therefore, must be structured so as to be conceptually broad enough to encompass the multiple sectoral values of disciplines, as well as the more integrated ‘insider’ views of associated communities and indigenous groups.

The complexities of landscape values are reflected in the range of disciplines that have an interest in aspects of landscape. In investigating and identifying aspects of interest in the landscape, disciplines allocate specialised concepts of ‘value’, which eventually become part of the general mix of cultural values associated with landscape. The world-views of disciplines are, however, generally founded in a western tradition: indigenous

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communities associated with particular landscapes may have quite different world-views that add further to the mix of cultural values.

The review of disciplinary interests in landscape showed that each discipline largely concentrates on a particular aspect or aspects of landscape, although their interests may overlap or cross-fertilise. The necessarily fractionalised disciplinary approaches, however, do not reflect the ‘whole picture’ of landscape expressed by communities and groups that have special association with place.

A surprising degree of synergy was shown between the range of values expressed by community and indigenous group members, and the totality of interests of the disciplines as a whole. Despite the synergy, the two groupings cannot be considered as equivalent, as insider views are likely to differ from outsider views. An integrated and holistic approach to landscape requires consideration of both forms of knowledge. It also needs to incorporate an awareness of the potential for landscape-related information to be cleaved along disciplinary lines, or according to particular conceptual or cultural divisions.

The focus of this chapter has been to draw together the various threads of interest in landscape to gain an overall impression of the range and nature of cultural values in landscapes. This provides the groundwork for the development of a conceptual model of landscape values in the following chapter.

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CHAPTER 6

DEVELOPING A CONCEPTUAL MODEL:

THE CULTURAL VALUES MODEL

6.1 Introduction

Developing a conceptual model of landscape values is made particularly difficult because of the range of approaches to understanding landscape, and its fragmentation into relatively exclusive zones of disciplinary interest. An integrated model needs to work against this tendency to view aspects of landscape as unrelated pieces of information, and instead offer a way in which they can be understood in relation to one another and as a whole.

This chapter incorporates the fourth research component: What approaches have been taken to developing inter-disciplinary or holistic models? to help develop the Cultural Values Model. Building on the findings of the previous two chapters, theoretical threads are drawn from disciplinary literature and indigenous world-views to assist in developing key propositions, and ultimately a tentative model. Section 6.2 reviews discussions that have taken place within a number of disciplines regarding the barriers to an integrated understanding of landscape. The potential of a more integrated approach to landscape has been identified from a number of fields, and these are discussed in Section 6.3. Some models of ‘space’ or ‘landscape’ have been proposed in different disciplinary contexts, and these are reviewed in Section 6.4 along with some indigenous models of landscape. Given that a model of ‘cultural values in landscapes’ is sought, not a model of ‘landscape’, Section 6.5 briefly discusses the nature of cultural values in relation to the landscape. Drawing from all of these threads, the Cultural Values Model is developed in Section 6.6.

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6.2 Barriers to an integrated understanding

The cleaving of ‘landscape’ amongst many disciplines is a fundamental barrier to understanding landscape as a whole. While landscape is a holistic concept, each discipline works within the boundary of its own analytical framework. Researchers work within compartmentalised disciplinary foci using their own conceptual language. Landscape approaches which may work well within a single discipline may be incompatible with other disciplines, hindering the exchange of knowledge. As Wylie (2000) notes, the sheer diversity of landscape studies makes it extremely difficult to achieve an integrated understanding, which is illustrated by the “seemingly unbridgeable gap which exists between, for example, landscape archaeology and the post-structural analyses favoured by cultural geographers” (p141). While the information each discipline produces about a given landscape may be correct within the scope of the discipline, it may fail to convey the full reality of the landscape (Tress and Tress 2001). Even within single disciplines there may be different definitions and a lack of a commonly accepted understanding (Anschuetz, Wilshusen, and Scheick 2001; Lawrence 2003). Within landscape quality assessment, for example, there is a lack of a general unifying theory for the range of approaches used, a shortcoming that Lothian (1994) describes as “challenging” (p48).

McGlade (1999) suggests that the heart of the problem is the “systematic fragmentation of separate specialist observations which are then ‘incorporated’ into a synthetic reconstruction of the cultural environment” (p467). This can be seen, for example, where categories of value are used to determine cultural significance. Values which do not ‘fit’ the classification system or which arise from interactions between different aspects of the same landscape can be overlooked. In practice, it is often difficult to divide human responses into terms such as ‘aesthetic’ or ‘historic’ value, and those assessing landscape value may end up fitting views to categories rather than vice versa (Walker 1993). The reductionism is compounded when the same landscape may be assessed under several evaluation systems (e.g. ecological, historic, scenic). Values which do not fall neatly into a category may be ignored or divided between categories.

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A further problem is the use of assessment methods which omit understandings and values of those who are attached to a particular landscape. While methods involving communities of interest are becoming more common (e.g. Mason 2002; Blair 1993; Domicelj and Domicelj 1990), expert approaches that focus on the contribution of particular academic disciplines still dominate. While they may offer specialist interpretations of indigenous or community values, this may not necessarily convey their distinctive significance to insiders, which “resides simultaneously in the tangible forms of the landscape and in the minds of its individuals” (Allison 1999:280).

Some attempts have been made within or between disciplines to understand the fragmentation problem by classifying the different approaches taken to landscape. Stoddart (2000), for example, categorises landscape approaches according to whether they relate to ‘natural landscape’ or ‘cultural landscape’, and, within the latter divides them according to their main themes (e.g. power, memory, identity, aesthetics). Jones (1991) divides them into three main approaches – scientific, applied and humanistic – each of which produces a different understanding of landscape. He suggests that the objective scientific approach deals with the visible landscape, producing information about landscape qualities. Such applied approaches use objective information together with value judgements to create a landscape of selected valued elements. Approaches to landscape evaluation can also be sorted according to their background theory or paradigm. Soini (2001) suggests that positivism leads to a behavioural approach in which environment is an object; phenomenology and existentialism underlie a humanistic approach which focuses on emotional attachment to landscape; and cultural approaches arise from hermeneutics, which views landscape as a ‘text’ from which meanings can be read. But while such analyses assist in understanding the possible roots of the problem, they do not lead far in the direction of a solution.

Clearly, there are many shortcomings in formalised methods of assessing cultural values in landscapes, but to focus on analysing these would avoid the more deep-seated issue which

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is the focus of this thesis. The problem to be explored is not ‘how can we improve current evaluation methods’, or ‘how can we better synthesise evaluation methods’ but is ‘can we understand cultural values in landscapes in a holistic way?’ It is hoped that by addressing this latter problem, some assistance can be given to finding solutions for the former.

6.3 The potential of an integrated approach

Despite the problems in achieving an integrated approach, the concept of ‘landscape’ is increasingly being lauded as a useful concept which has the potential to diffuse the conventional boundaries between disciplines and generate new forms of knowledge. Its potential for transdisciplinary synthesis is noted in a number of fields (McGlade 1999; Crumley and Marquardt 1990; Tress and Tress 2001; Terkenli 2001). As a unifying theme, landscape offers a way to consider the relative contributions of many disciplines and achieve a holistic understanding of landscape values. It allows multiple investigators to pursue different research topics yet contribute collectively to a more comprehensive understanding of spatial, temporal, ecological and cognitive concepts (Anschuetz, Wilshusen, and Scheick 2001). It also provides an opportunity for collective ventures between disciplines and communities (Terkenli 2001; Groth and Bressi 1997).

Landscape’s inter-disciplinary potential arises not from a common understanding of its meaning, but from the very opposite – its indeterminacy. As a cultural term, ‘landscape’ carries many meanings and connotations, and it is this very “duplicity” that gives it its analytical potential (Daniels 1989:197): its power being that it “migrates through regimes of values sometimes held apart” (Andrews 1989:12). As Morphy (1993) concludes: At a time when simple determinisms are breaking down, and the boundaries between disciplines are continually being breached, it is useful to have a concept that is free from fixed positions, whose meaning is elusive, yet whose potential range is all-encompassing (p205).

Cross-fertilisation of ideas between landscape-related disciplines is already relatively commonplace. Landscape ecology, for example, draws from general ecology,

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biogeography, community ecology and other fields (Ingegnoli 2002). Landscape architecture has its roots in both art and ecology (Spirn 1998). Archaeology has been informed by geography, and landscape-related projects often involve close associations between geographers and archaeologists (Orser 1996). Geographers and anthropologists have developed a common interest in understanding how social relations between groups and the physical world are reproduced and represented (Cosgrove 1993). Many edited books on landscape include contributions from a wide range of disciplines – ‘Understanding Ordinary Landscapes’ (Groth and Bressi 1997), for example, contains contributions from geographers, historians, an urban designer, architects, landscape architects, and an architectural historian.

Although landscape studies increasingly incorporate the work of various disciplines, a fundamental problem appears to be not so much the different contexts and understandings of ‘landscape’ – this in fact being its strength - but rather the lack of a framework or model to assist in transdisciplinary understanding. McGlade (1999) suggests that what is required is the construction of a conceptual framework that provides an integrated, multi- disciplinary perspective: Importantly, this is not simply a methodological issue, but primarily a conceptual one whose solution lies in replacing the natural-science model that pervades the current environmental discourse with an interpretive framework that promotes pluralistic outcomes rather than the reductionist search for single solutions (p460).

Unsurprisingly, a number of models have been developed which attempt to address the problem. These models arise from a variety of perspectives, but all attempt to provide a high-level representation of the key components of spatial significance.

6.4 Existing models of landscape

Models are “theories, laws, equations, or hunches which state our beliefs about the universe we think we see” (Haggett, Cliff, and Frey 1977:19). In seeking examples of existing integrated models, a concept of ‘model’ was adopted from Gudeman and Penn (1982).

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They suggest that a model offers a simplified ‘logic’ to aid in understanding. It uses a core language that attempts to capture essential characteristics, and provides a means of inferring relationships between the parts.

Models that fit these criteria were drawn from a review of indigenous and disciplinary literature. Not all seek to specifically conceptualise ‘landscape’, some offering a framework for understanding environment, space and/or place. Despite the fact that they have been developed from very different perspectives and for different purposes, they all contribute to a conceptual understanding of landscape. This section briefly describes relevant indigenous and discipline-based landscape models, and then moves to discuss common themes that might be of assistance in developing a model of cultural values in landscapes.

Indigenous models

Indigenous models of landscape are not necessarily formalised but are highly informative as to how landscape is experienced by that culture. Gudeman and Penn (1982) suggest that the local ‘models’ of indigenous groups may be closer to the reality experienced at community level than western-derived ‘universal’ models. Their lack of “clean, deductive form” (p101) does not mean that they have any less validity than more formal models.

To the Australian Aboriginal people, the landscape is spiritualised. Rather than being a ‘natural’ phenomenon, it is socialised space, redolent with the past made tangible in story and song (Tilley 1994). Landscape was created by the Ancestors, who created rivers, landforms, people and plants, and at times were themselves transformed into landscape features. The land and its people are thus integrally linked through family relationships (Clarke 2003). Song cycles depict the cultural landscape through the life and journeys of ancestral beings; short segments of the songs relate to particular places, and longer sequences map the ancestor’s journeys and create ‘paths’ for subsequent generations to follow (Sinatra 1999). Tribal boundaries are related to mythologies – beyond these boundaries, myths cannot be told, nor songs sung. Significant sites are visible expressions

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of segments of myth, which not only tell of the actions of ancestors, but also convey information about resources in the locality (Tilley 1994).

For New Zealand Māori, the landscape is similarly represented as woven with genealogy. As touched on in Section 5.3, the land itself is the universal mother, landscape features are ancestors or represent ancestors’ actions, and tribal members are tied to particular landscapes through interwoven and layered descent lines (Klaricich 2001; Russell 2000). The landscape model can be described as a ‘family’ model, whereby the connections and interdependencies between people, the environment and the elements are an interacting network of related components (Durie 1998). Matunga (1994) proposes Māori values in the environment can be grouped into four components: - taoka/taonga – objects or things that are highly prized - tikaka/tikanga – values, norms and customs - mauri – the power or life force in all things, which binds the physical and spiritual essence - kaitiakitanga – the obligations or responsibilities incumbent on tangata whenua to protect mauri and to carry out particular functions as custodians for future generations

The indigenous models lack the formal structure of a disciplinary model but convey their own internal logic. They incorporate ideas about the physical and perceived worlds, the relationships between people and the landscape, and their reinforcement through ritual or traditional actions. They are underpinned by concepts of spirituality and life force. They convey the interdependency of all aspects of the landscape, and reference it strongly to the past.

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Discipline-based models

The literature search undertaken as part of the research process revealed a number of attempts to model landscape or one of its derivatives (‘space’ or ‘place’) as a whole. These are discussed below and summarised in Table 4 below.

As touched on in Chapter 2, urban designer Kevin Lynch (1960) sought to understand the components of the ‘environmental image’ used by people to negotiate their way around cities. He suggests the image can be analysed into three components: identity, structure and meaning, while noting that in reality all three are concurrent. A workable image requires first the identification of an object, which implies its distinction from other things, its recognition as a separate entity… Second, the image must include the spatial or pattern relation of the object to the observer and to other objects. Finally, the object must have some meaning for the observer, whether practical or emotional. Meaning is also a relation, but quite a different one from spatial or pattern relation. (p8)

Philosopher and sociologist Henri Lefebvre (1974) modelled the components of ‘social space’ as comprising the social relations of reproduction (the bio-physical relations that make up social groupings) and the relations of production (the division of labour and its organisation). These interact, producing space which embraces a multitude of intersections, each with its assigned location. As described in Chapter 5, Lefebvre’s model is a conceptual triad consisting of spatial practice (embracing production, reproduction and their spatial characteristics), representations of space (tied to spatial practice and linked to knowledge, signs and codes) and representational spaces (embodying symbolism).

As discussed in Chapters 3 and 5, an interest in the identity of place led to geographer Edward Relph (1976) proposing that landscape is composed of the tangible and physical features of the area, the measurable activities of man, and the meanings or symbols imposed by human consciousness. These three fundamental divisions of place - the static physical setting, the activities occurring there, and their meanings - are irreducible one to the other, but at the same time are inseparably interwoven in the experience of place.

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Archaeologists Crumley and Marquardt (1990) propose that landscape is determined by physical structures (those relatively independent of human control such as climate, topography, geology) and socio-historical structures (e.g. class, inheritance, liaisons, trade, laws). These structures and their interpretations (aesthetic, symbolic, religious, ideological) are determinative and mutually definitive of landscape.

A language metaphor permeates the approach taken by landscape architect Anne Spirn (1998). Not only is landscape delineated as a text to be read, but its elements are likened to parts of speech. In the context of a sentence structure, landscape incorporates agents and objects (nouns), events (verbs), and meanings and qualities (adjectives and adverbs). These elements do not exist in isolation, but combine in ways that produce significance, as do words in a phrase or sentence.

Archaeologist Timothy Darvill (1999) proposes a model of landscape as a “time-dependent, spatially referenced, socially constituted template or perspective of the world” shared by individuals and groups (p110). Landscape’s context includes space as experienced by individuals and social groups; time (both objective and as represented subjectively) and social action (intentional action to effect or prevent change). Landscape is not a passive object representing the cumulative sum of actions, but a set of structures and devices that are active agents in society as long as they continue to be socially meaningful.

Theano Terkenli (2001), a geographer, models landscape as a visible expression of the humanised environment, perceived through sensory and cognitive processes, and a medium for human action and perception. He identifies three interlocking facets of landscape: the visual (form), the cognitive (meaning) and the experiential (functions, processes and human experiences), which are shaped by both biological laws and cultural rules.

Another geographer, Katriina Soini (2001), similarly suggests a three-poled model to understand landscape multi-functionality: landscape qualities (ecological, aesthetic,

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historical or symbolic characteristics), landscape functions (the services that these qualities produce) and value systems (which determines how and why people act in the landscape). All of these are interactive and are influenced by economic actions.

A further model arising from geography is that of Bärbel and Gunther Tress (2001), who put forward a model based on five different historical approaches to landscape. These conceptualise it variously as a spatial entity (its physical-material dimension); as a mental entity (human sensory and reflective response to landscape); as the nexus of nature and culture; as a complex system (involving the geosphere, biosphere and noo-sphere) and as a temporal dimension. They suggest that landscapes consist of these interacting aspects in hierarchically ordered systems at a variety of levels.

These models may seem at first glance to be a confusing myriad of ideas, but closer inspection reveals a surprisingly high degree of congruence, revealed in Table 4.

It can be seen that almost all of the models offer a three-part analysis. Strong similarities can be seen in the components of the models even though they have been developed from a variety of disciplinary backgrounds and for a variety of purposes.

Firstly, the models all refer in some way (column one) to the physical forms of the landscape, using terms such as structure (Lynch 1960), representational spaces (Lefebvre 1974), tangible or physical features (Relph 1976), nouns/agents and objects (Spirn 1998), physical structures (Crumley and Marquardt 1990), space (Darvill 1999), landscape qualities (Soini 2001), visual form (Terkenli 2001) and spatial entity (Tress and Tress 2001).

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TABLE 4: Summary of landscape models

Model purpose Model components Model components Model components Other model relating to physical relating to meaning components forms Components of an Structure Meaning Identity environmental image (Lynch 1960) Elements of social space Representational Representations of Spatial practice (Lefebvre 1974) spaces space

Elements of the identity of Tangible/physical Meanings/symbols Measurable places activities (Relph 1976)

Elements of landscape Nouns : agents and Adverbs/adjectives: Verbs : events (Spirn 1998) objects Qualities/meaning

Definitive elements of Physical structures Interpretations Sociohistorical landscape structures (Crumley and Marquardt 1990) Aspects of landscape as Space Social action context Time (Darvill 1999) Model of landscape multi- Landscape qualities Value systems Landscape functionality functions (Soini 2001) Aspects of landscape Visual (form) Cognitive (meaning) Experiential (Terkenli 2001) (functions, processes, human experiences) Dimensions of landscape Spatial Nature/ Mental entity Time Systems (Tress and Tress 2001) entity culture nexus

Secondly, most models refer in some way to meanings generated by human relationships with landscapes (column three). Expressions used include meaning (Lynch 1960; Relph 1976; Spirn 1998; Terkenli 2001), representations of space (Lefebvre 1974), interpretations

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(Crumley and Marquardt 1990), value systems (Soini 2001) and mental entity (Tress and Tress 2001).

Thirdly, most models also incorporate actions or processes (column two). Some of them focus on human activities, using terms such as spatial practice (Lefebvre 1974), measurable activities (Relph 1976), verbs/events (Spirn 1998), socio-historical structures (Crumley and Marquardt 1990) and social action (Darvill 1999). Two include natural processes, referring to landscape functions (Soini 2001), and systems (Tress and Tress 2001). Terkenli groups functions, processes and human experiences together within the ‘experiential’ aspect of landscape (Terkenli 2001).

While there are differences between the models (some of which will be discussed shortly), these similarities are striking. In general, the models all attempt to move beyond the nature/culture or objective/subjective divisions, and offer a way of considering space or landscape as all of these and more. Additionally, almost all of the models propose three key groupings by which to model the totality of landscape (or space) has been modelled.

The first grouping (Column 1, Table 4) consists of the physical, tangible or objective aspects of landscape or space. As a whole, these include both natural features (landforms, vegetation etc.) and forms created by or resulting from human intervention (structures, gardens etc.). Most of the theorists use a category that is consciously inclusive if both natural and cultural features. The term ‘forms’ has been adopted here to capture this first group of elements.

The term ‘relationships’ is used to encompass the second group of concepts, predominantly reflected in the second column of Table 4. Human relationships with and within landscapes are the generators of meaning, significance representations, values systems and interpretations. The term can also encompass relationships between aspects of natural systems, such as ecological relationships. It also encompasses the more spiritual landscape

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constructs of indigenous cultures, which may include such concepts as genealogical descent from landscapes.

The third group captures concepts of human actions, events, and practices, which are the primary matters conveyed in Column 3 of Table 4. Two of the models from landscape ecologists, however, suggest that natural processes or functions are also important aspects of landscape. Is it appropriate to consider these together? Certainly, the bridging concepts offered by Bourdieu’s ‘habitus’ (Painter, 2000 #1018) and Ingold’s (2000) ‘dwelling perspective’ suggest that human practices and the processes of nature are a continuum of dynamic action rather than conceptually separate. At one end of this continuum, natural processes (weather, erosion) can be seen as changes that are initiated by non-human forces, while activities (farming, building) can be seen as human-initiated changes. It is clear, however, that human activity affects natural processes (for example carbon dioxide emissions induce global warming which affects weather patterns) and natural processes affect human activity (for example, flooding). To conceptually separate the two is to replicate the nature/culture fission and deny the inseparability of natural and cultural processes. In the interests of moving beyond the nature/culture division, therefore, it is important to capture both dynamics (‘cultural’ practices and ‘natural’ processes) in a single category. However, there does not appear to be a single term to encompass both concepts in the English language. The term ‘dynamics’ was considered, but it fails to distinguish between dynamics of an action or process, and dynamics over time, which is an important distinction for the purposes of model-building. Hence the term ‘practices’ has been retained and adopted here to encompass both human practices and natural processes.

The groups can be given the generic headings of forms, relationships and practices.

The main difference amongst the models relates to the temporal dimensions of landscapes. Darvill (1999) and Tress and Tress (2001) both differentiate between the dynamic processes of the present (‘systems’ and ‘social action’) and the dynamic dimension of time. Other models do not separately feature time as a component of landscape. This omission is

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significant in that temporality is identified by many writers as a basic component of landscape. Ingold (1993), for example, describes landscape as an enduring record of the stories of previous generations, “pregnant with the past” (p153). “Veins of myth and memory” lie beneath the surface (Schama 1996:14) and a “deep sense of the past” offers a richer interpretation of landscape than the more limited concept as scenery (Daniels 1989:210). Even the empiricist Sauer considered that “[w]e cannot form an idea of landscape except in terms of its time relations as well as its space relations” (Leighly 1963:333). Landscape, in short, has a “fundamental temporality” (Ingold 1993:164) which must be recognised in any attempt to develop a landscape model.

Arising from the synergies within the landscape models, the key components of landscape can be described as the dynamic interaction, over time, of forms, relationships and practices. Each of these three components consciously captures both natural and cultural phenomena in an attempt to move beyond that fundamental dialectic towards a more inclusive approach.

This discussion will be continued in Section 6.6 in reference to the development of the Cultural Values Model. Just prior to this, however, a brief foray needs to be made back to the concept of cultural values. This is necessary because the landscape models reviewed above seek to represent landscapes, not cultural values in landscapes. While some of the models implicitly or explicitly incorporate notions of significance, culture itself has been relatively absent from the discussion. It is therefore useful at this point to briefly review some understandings of how culture is manifest in the landscape.

6.5 Cultural values

Culture is a dynamic process. It does not only encompass social phenomena, but is also “profoundly spatialised and intimately connected with sense of place” (Stratford 1999:2). Its “map of meaning” (Clarke et al. 1976:11) is concretely expressed both in systems of social organisation and the physical setting. These spatial structures in their turn provide a

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dynamic context for the processes and practices that give shape and form to culture (Jackson 1989). Culture is linked both to “real geographies” - physical sites and terrains – and “imaginative geographies” – those of created and shared meanings (Stratford 1999:2). The landscape works as a “cultural practice”, forming and being formed by social and subjective identities (Mitchell 1994 cited in Andrews 1989:12).

Over time, a landscape becomes a layered and dynamic expression of the culture or cultures which have lived and evolved within it. Human actions, artefacts and landscapes are all manifestations of culture. They carry, express and reinforce the codes through which meanings are “actively constructed, negotiated, conveyed and understood” (King 1997:138).

Within a landscape, then, a culture can therefore be seen to be encoded through the relationships, practices and forms which are particular to that landscape, interacting over time. Cultural values are those values that are identified by those who are part of the cultural context or who are in a position to observe and understand it.

6.6 Developing the Cultural Values Model

A strong congruence is now being revealed between how culture reveals itself in landscape, and how landscape itself is modelled. Culture is encoded in landscapes over time through relationships, practices and physical forms. These same general categories are compatible with the inter-disciplinary models of landscape reviewed in Section 6.4.

I suggest that these fundamental components – forms, relationships and practices and their interaction over time - offer the basis for an integrated understanding of landscape. They relate directly to an understanding of culture as it may be represented in landscape, and to an understanding of landscape as it may be represented through culture. The components are not static, but are continuously interacting. Changes may occur in forms, relationships and practices, but a thread of continuity will remain in the landscape.

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These fundamental components can be used to further consider the findings of the Bannockburn study and the disciplinary review. It will be recalled that these were summarised in Chapter 5 in Table 3. For visual comparison these two tables are repeated below, grouped into similar aspects:

TABLE 5: Comparison of interests in landscape expressed by Bannockburn interviewees and through disciplinary literature, grouped into similar categories

Culturally valued aspects of Aspects of landscape of interest to Bannockburn disciplines and indigenous groups (from (from Table 1) Table 2)

¾ natural features ¾ natural landforms ¾ historic features ¾ flora and fauna ¾ contemporary features ¾ human-made features ¾ sensory impressions ¾ historic and archaeological features ¾ spiritual qualities ¾ human systems ¾ genealogical connections ¾ activities and practices ¾ stories, myths ¾ histories ¾ sense of history ¾ ecological processes ¾ names ¾ scenery ¾ activities ¾ aesthetics ¾ physical processes ¾ sense of place ¾ sense of community ¾ power ¾ sense of place ¾ meanings ¾ stories ¾ memory ¾ names ¾ ancestral relationships, genealogies ¾ literature, art, song ¾ myth ¾ symbol ¾ spirituality ¾ ideology

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The similarities between these arrays of meaning and value are immediately apparent. Applying the three ‘fundamental components’ identified above, the compounded lists can be sorted into three groupings as below. For the time being, the temporal dimension will be ignored.

TABLE 6: The three fundamental components of landscape value

Forms Relationships Practices/processes Represented by: Represented by: Represented by:

Natural features/landforms beauty, aesthetics, scenery land-based activities Historic features sensory impressions traditional activities Flora and fauna sense of history walking and exploring Vernacular forms stories human systems Human-made features myths activities and practices Historic and archaeological names of places histories features family connections ecological processes genealogy spirituality sense of places power meanings memory literature, art, song symbols ideology …. interacting and linked dynamically in space and time ….

6.6.1 The fundamental components of the model

Forms, relationships and practices, then, are proposed as the three fundamental components of landscape significance as expressed by both disciplinary groups and attached communities. These components incorporate not only human or ‘cultural’ aspects of the landscape but also its non-human aspects with which human life is inextricably entwined. Forms captures the physical, tangible aspects of landscape including landforms, fauna and flora and human-created structures. Relationships encompasses the associations between

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people and a given landscape, and the relationships that develop amongst people who have a common association with a landscape. Relationships can be evidenced in many ways including spirituality, myth, sense of place, naming, stories and through arts such as literature and song. Practices refers to dynamics in the landscape – both human practices (such as activities, traditions and customs) and natural processes (such as ecological flows and water cycles).

The chart below shows this concept diagrammatically.

FIGURE 16: Cultural Values Model (early form), showing the three fundamental components of forms, relationships and practices

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6.6.2 Representing landscape dynamics

This model, however, is static. As discussed previously, landscapes are dynamic and evolving over time. The term ‘practices’ captures the notion that activities occur at a point in time, but landscape dynamics extend beyond this. Firstly, practices, forms and relationships are continually interacting. Each part influences the other, is inseparable from the other, and is in continual dynamic interchange. The three components can be considered separately (and, as will be discussed later, are often addressed separately by different disciplines) but nonetheless are inseparable in reality. The model can be developed further to represent this dynamism. Figure 17 reflects the proposition that forms, practices and relationships are in dynamic interaction.

FIGURE 17: Cultural Values Model – showing the dynamic interaction of forms, practices and relationships

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6.6.3 Representing the temporal dimension

The temporal dimension of landscape also needs to be captured in the model. Landscape is created from dynamic interactions occurring over time. The landscape of the present bears within it the continuities and changes of the past, and forms a fulcrum to the continuities and changes of the future.

A further variant on the model represents landscape as a continuum, bearing within it the forms, relationships and practices of the past that have influenced the present and may continue to influence the future (see Figure 18).

FIGURE 18: Cultural Values Model – showing the temporal dimension

This model can be further varied to convey other concepts. In Figure 19 below, for example, the model indicates that forms, relationships or practices from the past continue to influence the cultural values of the present. Some arise from relatively recent influences

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(top arrow), some from influences in the distant past (middle arrow) and some alter over time (bottom arrow).

FIGURE 19: Cultural Values Model – continuities and discontinuities

These concepts form the basis of the Cultural Values Model. The model offers a provisional framework for understanding multiple cultural values in landscapes. It suggests that landscapes can be understood in an integrated way through consideration of forms, relationships and practices; the dynamic interactions amongst these; and the dimension of time. These components give rise to, and result from, cultural values in landscapes. Accordingly, it is necessary to take account of all of these landscape components to achieve an understanding of cultural values as a whole.

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6.6.4 Representing cleaving

The model can also be used to portray the issue of cleaving, discussed in Chapter 5. Cleaving is the tendency for quite different portrayals of the same landscape, according to disciplinary interests or worldviews. In Figure 20 below, a hypothetical example is chosen of an area of forest and wetland that is considered significant by some for its natural (but culturally derived) values and by an indigenous group for values specific to that people. Note that the diagram does not purport to make judgements, but is a way of portraying how different value sets are conveyed through the differential significance given to forms, relationships and practices.

FIGURE 20: Using the Cultural Values Model to portray how landscape values can be cleaved

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6.7 Conclusion

The Cultural Values Model tentatively offers a structured way to consider and account for cultural values in landscapes. It shows a strong degree of consistency with other models of ‘landscape’ or ‘space’ developed within various disciplinary contexts. It is also consistent with contemporary understandings of how culture is spatialised. As a whole, it provides a provisional framework for making initial sense of the range of values that may be identified by disciplines, culture groups and associated communities. It also helps represent how values associated with a landscape can be cleaved according to the different interests of a group or discipline. Its validity in these regards will be tested in Chapter 8 in relation to the Akaroa case study, and discussed further in Chapter 9.

However, the Cultural Values Model does not directly assist in understanding landscape values as they are distributed across space and time. To do this, it will be necessary to develop a further framework for linking value-based information to the geographic landscape. Accordingly, the following chapter uses the Cultural Values Model as an organisational framework to develop a second model that seeks to offer a spatial understanding of cultural values in landscapes.

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CHAPTER 7

DEVELOPING AN APPLIED MODEL:

THE DIMENSIONAL LANDSCAPE MODEL

7.1 Introduction

The Cultural Values Model described in Chapter 6 offers a framework for considering the totality of cultural values in landscapes. However, for those making decisions about landscape, it is not enough to conceptualise the totality of values – it is necessary to understand how its multiple meanings and values are spatially distributed. This is particularly important for the planning discipline, which relies heavily on spatial understandings of the world. If consideration of cultural values is to influence planning practice, it is necessary to be able to account for those values in a spatial sense.

This is not to say that all cultural values will necessarily have a direct concordance with a physical form in the landscape. Some values certainly may relate to landscape forms and features, but as has been explored in the previous chapter, values also arise from relationships and practices in landscapes. They also arise from the dynamic interaction of forms, relationships and practices over time. Such values are not necessarily spatial in the sense that they will correspond precisely with physical forms in the landscape. They do however relate to the landscape in a way that is more than just an ‘even spread’ of significance.

In relation to Bannockburn, for example, cultural values corresponded to both localised aspects of landscapes (e.g. the abandoned mining settlement of Carricktown) and

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generalised aspects (e.g. the quality of light). Valued parts of the landscape were linked over space (e.g. the ore crushers at Quartzville worked the ore extracted from mines located far up the hill near Carricktown) and time (e.g. the story of the Bouakai linked a place to an event at least 500 years previous). In this sense, relationships and practices can be considered as having dimensional characteristics, even though these dimensions are not necessarily in direct concordance with the physical dimensions of the landscape.

What is required, therefore, is a model which goes beyond merely representing the physical forms of the landscape, and is able to represent its multiple dimensions in a way which has utility for the spatial science of planning. The model needs to be able to represent distinctive valued aspects of the landscape, but at the same time to represent the interconnectedness of these aspects rather than reducing them into discrete parts. In short, the model needs to offer a comprehensive and integrated way of understanding how values are linked to landscapes.

This is not easy. Recent literature of the ‘spatial turn’, as discussed in Chapter 5, is in general critical of attempts to ‘map’ the complex multiplicity that constitutes space. The process of mapping is traditionally an exercise in conveying rational abstractions rather than the human experience of space. The exercise of placing signs or codes in measured relation to one another, whether on paper or in computer software, is fraught with the problems of over-simplification, misrepresentation and reinterpretation. Conveying concepts of dynamics – whether these are emplaced interrelationships or change over time – is even more problematic, as the means of conveying such information are generally themselves static. Yet it is not impossible. As Hägerstrand has shown in his models of time-geography (1982), while the physical models (lines on paper) may appear simplistic, they convey a powerful conceptual message. By illustrating complex yet concentrated concepts through visual symbols, his models offer a gateway into envisioning time and space in new ways and from new perspectives. Despite, therefore, the lurking bearpit of over-simplification, this chapter will seek to develop a model of landscape-linked values

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that can provide a ‘way in’ to appreciating the multiplicity of values that might be inherent in any given landscape.

In developing such a model, this chapter records component 5 of the research process: what approaches have been taken to modelling the dimensions of landscape? (See Figure 1, Chapter 3). In Section 7.2, the general nature of models is touched on, to give context to the model development. Section 7.3 reviews disciplinary models that attempt to define, interpret or comprehend the landscape in a spatial and temporal sense, and in particular how they model landscape itself. Māori and Aboriginal models of landscape are also reviewed. The reviews seek to compare how space and time are modelled, and to examine what commonalities (if any) exist between disciplinary models. The key conceptual structures necessary to convey the physical, temporal and intangible components of landscape are developed in Section 7.4, resulting in the Dimensional Landscape Model.

7.2 The nature of models

The nature of models has already been touched on in relation to disciplinary and indigenous ways of conceptualising landscapes (Chap 6.4). This chapter is concerned with developing a more ‘representational’ model of landscape, and in doing so, other types of models will be canvassed to understand the main components used in other disciplines to represent landscape ideas. To do this, a more specific understanding is required of just what is meant by a ‘model’ in this context.

Many disciplines have developed models which represent and convey the landscape as ‘seen’ by that discipline. Approaches vary from an analysis of the geometric spatial structure of the landscape, to the functional relationships between its parts, to more humanist or existential models which attempt to represent relationships between people and the landscape, and the meanings evinced by the landscape. Ways of modelling landscapes range from analytical and representative means such as maps and diagrams, to descriptive means conveyed by such means as art, poetry, song, and stories.

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While many disciplinary landscape models seek to objectively represent the seen world, they do not necessarily limit their representations to physical matters. Ecological models, for example, include flows of energy or matter, and regional systems approaches may model the movement of such intangible things as information and money. Landscape models, therefore, do not necessarily correspond in every detail with physical world, and may often convey invisible or non-physical information. Indigenous cultures also have ‘models’ of landscape which may be based on spiritual concepts, and conveyed through means such as myth and song. These models relate to the spatial world but also convey other dimensions.

Most of the models discussed in this chapter will be derived from disciplines, but indigenous models are also considered. An inclusive approach is taken, accepting that, as constructions of reality, disciplinary models are not necessarily any more representative of landscape significance than any other. A useful mental construct is offered by Gudeman and Penn (1982), who differentiate between ‘universal’ and ‘local’ models. They suggest that universal models presuppose the existence of a single, monolithic and comprehensive ‘logic’, whereas local models are localised ‘folk’ constructions of reality. The latter do not necessarily possess a clean, deductive form but are nonetheless constructions of reality.

I suggest that Gudeman and Penn’s ‘local’ models are akin to indigenous or community- shared models, which are more likely to relate to specific landscapes than do his ‘universal’ models. Developing their approach further, a continuum can be drawn that relates to the degree to which a model is specific to and located within a particular landscape. Their universal and local models may be considered as part of the continuum, and it can be extended further to represent personal models of landscape (see Figure 21).

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FIGURE 21: A continuum of landscape models

Figure 21 indicates that personal models, which may be represented through art, poetry, literature or simply be part of a sense of place, lie at one end of the continuum, being landscape-specific and localised. Disciplinary models, which represent abstract concepts about landscape in general, represent the other end of the continuum. Models which are shared within a community or culture group fall within the continuum, as they may be more ‘grounded’ in specific landscapes but at the same time may represent the landscape in a more generalised way. Universal models tend to be conveyed through objective means, whereas shared and personal models tend to be conveyed more subjectively, including through myth, spiritual expressions and song.

All three approaches inform about landscapes in different ways. The analytical representations at the right-hand end of the continuum are more closely aligned with the type of model that will be developed in this chapter. Shared models, however, are also of immense relevance to understanding values in landscapes and will be drawn on in this chapter. Personal models may also be a rich source of understanding cultural values, although they will not be drawn on in developing the Dimensional Landscape Model.

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Within the broad sweep of shared and disciplinary models that are potentially under consideration, many different ‘pictures’ of the landscape will be offered, arising from different worldviews, theories and methodologies. If it is to achieve the aim of offering an integrated framework, the Dimensional Landscape Model needs to be structured so as to be able to encompass such differences as far as possible. At the most fundamental level, there is no common frame of reference between the diversity of models except for the landscape itself. In this respect, the Cultural Values Model offers a common reference point in that it provides a conceptual framework of the sum of ideas about landscape. It therefore offers a useful structure within which to consider landscape models, enabling a comparative analysis of what aspects of the totality of landscape are addressed.

7.3 Dimensional models of landscape

Dimensional models of landscape are considered to be those shared and universal models which represent some aspect of the spatial or temporal dimensions of landscape. A range of such models are reviewed below, firstly to illustrate what aspects of landscape are conveyed by different modelling approaches, and secondly to identify some potentially useful concepts to help in developing the Dimensional Landscape Model. The review is structured around the key components of the Cultural Values Model.

7.3.1 Static models

The term ‘static models’ is used to describe models that convey information about forms, practices or relationships in static form, without reflecting their dynamic or temporal interactions.

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Form-focused modelling

The most common static model is the map. Maps have traditionally focused on functionally important spatial variables such as location, distance, direction and physical features. Practices such as cartography and surveying use formal geometric rules in an attempt to convey a realistic image of the world. Geographic Information Systems and other computer software offer increasingly sophisticated ways of representing spatially- related information, but are still reliant on the conceptual assumptions and modelling approaches of the user.

Physical modelling at a more abstract level is used as a tool for organising and expressing a limited range of physically related information for a particular purpose. Geographers, for example, typically use quantitative approaches in studying human occupation of physical space. Models seek to identify and predict regular patterns over space (Crang 1998) or to isolate and study individual elements of spatial systems to understand their function within the structure of the system (Fellmann, Gettis, and Gettis 1990). A variety of modelling systems are used. Land systems models, for example, divide an area into regional units with common physical attributes such as topography, soils, vegetation, geology and climate (Thomas and Goudie 2000). Ecologically based landscape assessment methodologies also generate physical models, such as the mapping of ecological units for ecological surveys (Wilson 1992), or of landform components, ecological districts and bioclimatic zones in land systems analysis (Swaffield and Lucas 1999). Physical models may convey some cultural aspects of landscape by mapping physical elements such as hedges, fields, ownership structure, pathways, agricultural buildings and recreation areas (Kronert, Steinhardt, and Volk 2001).

An example of the use of physical modelling is in an analysis of ecological integrity of a New Zealand landscape (Swaffield and Lucas 1999). In this study, key dimensional concepts include land systems, landform components, bioclimatic zones, ecological districts and ecological units. Physiographic land types and landform components (e.g.

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scarps, terraces) provide the basic spatial framework for the analysis. Characteristic landscapes and biological communities are classified into ecological districts, which include consideration of topography, geology, climate, soils and biota. Ecological units form the smallest focus of analysis, being unique assemblages of the former components. Some sense of change over time is provided by reconstruction of indigenous vegetation cover at several historic periods.

Physical landscape data may be overlaid with other information for evaluative purposes, such as the zoning of landscapes according to desired outcomes of function and control (Relph 1976). The suitability of an area for particular uses may be determined through the systematic application of a set of rules, such as those derived from ecological science (McHarg 1971), or through landscape sensitivity mapping which measures resilience using socio-political data and economic dynamics in addition to biophysical information (McGlade 1999). In the parametric approach, land resource data such as landform, soils, and vegetation is compiled and overlain with other aspects relevant to development potential such as landscape character, visibility, and other sensitivity measures. The result is maps with zones of greater or lesser suitability for development (Fabos and Caswell 1977).

Landscape quality models range from those that reflect the physical properties of the landscape, to models which seek to convey human values. Models used to identify valued aesthetic or natural components of landscape often partition the physical landscape into homogenous typologies. One study, for example, focused on evaluating the natural properties of landscapes. This involved the identification of natural character, natural elements, natural patterns and natural processes, and the mapping of these into homogenous sensitivity units (Boffa-Miskell 2000). A different study sought to define landscape character in terms of primary elements of landform, land cover and land use, and primary expressions of form, line, texture, pattern and colour, which were then mapped as ‘landscape units’ (Glasson 1991). A broader concept of landscape quality was used by (Rackham 1999), who applied a hierarchy of landscape character types, units, areas and

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features, which were assessed according to visual, natural and/or ecological values. Studies of landscape quality may also overlay physical and associative attributes to create composite representations of valued aspects of landscapes, such as maps of regional landscape character (Fairclough 1999) or aesthetic quality (Lamb 1994; Lothian 1994).

Techniques of modelling the physical aspects of the landscape include direct representation (e.g. mapping of chosen landscape features and their physical relationships) and representation of the results of analysis (e.g. the grouping of features or patterns into landscape typologies, and the sorting of typologies into hierarchies based on spatial or evaluative criteria). One of the most common modelling approaches, used by a range of disciplines, is the partitioning of landscapes into homogenous units based on predetermined criteria.

Practice-focused modelling

Static representations of practices and processes are similar to, and at times part of, models of forms. Land use mapping, for example, is a common planning tool that conveys static information about practices within the landscape (e.g. industrial, residential) by showing locations where certain activities do or should occur. Mapping of ecological areas as homogenous units is another example where processes are represented, but in a static form.

Relationship-focused modelling

A variety of methods exist to convey relationships with landscapes, but few of these are models in the sense used here. Cognitive or psychological methods of landscape analysis, used by a variety of disciplines (including geography, landscape architecture, history, social anthropology and fine arts) focus on the feelings and perceptions of those who interact with the landscape and the meanings it holds for them. Personal meanings and immediate subjective experience of the individual in the landscape are also explored in phenomenological or experiential models. The product is generally narrative, telling stories

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within which meanings and values are embedded, or reading the landscape as text from which a multitude of meanings may be interpreted (Lamb 1994; Lothian 1994). Tolia- Kelly (2004), for example, examined how Asian migrants’ memories of their landscapes of origin affirmed their cultural identities, and influenced their relationships with and practices in the British landscapes. This was conveyed predominantly as text, with a map showing landscapes of origin of the migrants.

While these methods are valuable in their own right, they have little to offer to the development of a dimensional model because their outcome is largely descriptive. Of more use are some of the concepts developed to explain how people locate themselves in relation to the physical environment. One of the more influential models is that developed by Kevin Lynch (1960), whose work has already been briefly touched on in Chapters 2 and 6. Lynch sought to understand how people perceive urban environments. Through interviews and the use of mental mapping, he concluded that people find their way around cities using five types of elements: paths (the channels along which the observer moves), edges (the linear elements not used or considered as paths by the observer), districts (sections of the city which the observer mentally enters ‘inside of’), nodes (foci to and from which the observer is travelling), and landmarks (a point reference the observer does not enter into). Lynch proposed that these elements are the “building blocks in the process of making firm, differentiated structures at the urban scale” (p95) and could be used to both understand human perception and to design better cities. Although his model was designed around urban orientation, Lynch’s elements provide a strong conceptual model with robust dimensionality.

Mental mapping has been used in a number of other situations to useful effect. Arising from psychology, but more latterly used in other disciplines (particularly geography), mental mapping attempts to capture how humans relate to their surroundings. Mental maps can either be freehand maps drawn by participants about their own experience, or drawn by others in an attempt to represent others’ reported experience. They reflect not only some of what the participant knows about the place but also their feelings about it (Soini 2001). To

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date, mental mapping techniques have primarily been used in studies of urban environments for planning purposes, mostly for measuring residential desirability and understanding spatial decision-making (Johnston et al. 2000). They have also been used to examine the development of spatial knowledge among different demographic groups (Soini 2001).

Forms of mental mapping have also been used by individuals and communities to give legitimacy to their own ‘ways of seeing’, where the choice of information and technique is made by community members rather than professionals (Mason 2002). The English organisation Common Ground, for example, encourages people and communities to create their own types of maps, conveying their knowledge of and feelings for their local settlement or landscape (Bender 1999). These ‘parish maps’ may be as diverse as hand- drawn maps, embroidery and story collections (Common Ground 2004).

Landscape modelling has also been influenced by the ‘linguistic’ turn, which seeks to examine the influence of language in structuring knowledge. Language can be used as a metaphor for landscape, expressing ideas about place as if it were text or narrative (Swaffield 2002). Language can be used as a signifier, conveying meanings, or can act at an even more abstracted code-like level (Sorvig 1996). In the former sense, landscape architecture’s language of design offers a vocabulary of form, space, colour, texture, etc to signify such things as ideas, activities, values and functions (Rackham 1996). In the latter sense, Spirn (1998) proposes that elements of landscape can be likened to parts of speech, each with separate functions and associations: [E]ntire landscapes and their features … [are] … analogous to, [and] even embody, grammar and language. Through grammar, meanings are shared; grammar is an aid to reading and telling landscape more fluently, deeply, expressively, and gracefully. ... Elements like water or path unite to form features, like river or fountain, and features, in turn, combine to create larger landscapes, grammatically ordered…. People follow the rules some of the time, but sometimes break them and sometimes invent new grammars. Multiple, overlapping grammars coexisting is what makes human landscapes so interesting and complex. (p168)

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Spirn also suggests that local landscape ‘dialects’ emerge out of enduring relationships with place, arising from collective learning, trial and error, and refinement through experience.

An improved and shared landscape vocabulary might assist in better communication between interest groups, but textual concepts have little to offer towards a dimensional understanding of landscape. While Spirn’s language metaphor offers a way of conceiving of relationships between aspects of the landscape, it does not offer dimensional concepts that might assist in reflecting the relationships between people and the landscape.

The models described above are largely concerned with presenting the landscape or environment as a static phenomena. The information generated by static models is valid and useful, but, as conveyed in the Cultural Values Model, landscapes are also dynamic. The next section reviews models that reflect the dynamic aspects of landscape.

7.3.2 Dynamic models

A model becomes dynamic when it conveys interactions between practices, forms and/or relationships. Generally, such models are those which incorporate a systems approach. A system was defined by Chorley in 1962 as a set of objects together with the relationships between the objects and their attributes (cited in Dear and Flusty 2002:26). Systems approaches have been used in many disciplines for modelling such phenomena as physical systems (e.g. erosion systems in geomorphology), regional systems (e.g. the relationships of towns, villages and farms via movements of goods, migrants etc.), and central-place theory (the evolution of dominant urban centres) (Dear and Flusty 2002). Locational models use systems theory to describe the ways in which patterns of human geography are arranged in space, using concepts such as movement, network, node, hierarchy and surfaces (Crumley and Marquardt 1990). Regional analysis also uses a systems approach, combining spatial and ecological data to model flows and links between regions. Dynamics are modelled using components such as interactions, networks, nodes, hierarchies, surfaces and diffusion (Haggett, Cliff, and Frey 1977; Thomas and Goudie 2000).

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Dynamic approaches are also used in landscape archaeology to understand how people lived in the landscape in the past. Linkages are sought between archaeological and physical features, and techniques such as pattern recognition and statistical analysis are used to examine correspondences between archaeological and physical evidence (Anschuetz, Wilshusen, and Scheick 2001). Modelling methods include analysis of regional site inter- relationships and site distributions, settlement networks and catchment ecology. Social constructs of earlier societies are inferred using phenomenological analysis of such things as views, landmarks and places (Ayres and Mauricio 1999; Orser 1996).

Systems theory is also used in landscape ecology and ecosystem theory. Landscape ecology seeks to understand the complexities of landscape in a holistic way. Its main structural model uses concepts such as heterogeneity, patches, corridors, boundaries and flows to describe ecological systems (Ingegnoli 2002). Analyses range from the static interpretation and classification of features in aerial photographs, to more dynamic interpretations using landscape metrics such as entropy as an indicator of fragmentation and heterogeneity (Antrop and Van Eetvelde 2000). Interconnections within and among ecological systems are modelled in terms of energy flows via food-chains, food-webs and nutrient cycles, or organism flows such as migration and dispersal (Allaby 1998; Liu and Taylor 2002).

Systems-based models have much to offer towards the development of a dimensional model. Components used in systems models are able to not only convey the physical relationships between landscape components, but also reflect the dynamic interchanges between them.

7.3.3 Temporal models

The Cultural Values Model suggests that temporality is a further fundamental component of landscape. Western-based disciplines, however, offer relatively few models of the

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temporality of the landscape. Local shared models, on the other hand, do incorporate the notion of time-depth.

Indigenous temporal models

In Australian Aboriginal culture, shared spiritual beliefs give rise to a landscape model based on songlines and sacred places. The travels of spirit-beings through the land create the framework for people’s relations with their land, and the names of places are the gateways to knowledge (Head 2000). “The whole landscape is criss-crossed by a multitude of tracks [created by mythical beings] … and present-day populations move along them while hunting and gathering…. Topographic features act as boundary marking features, orientation points on tracks and also play a central role in concepts of creation spiritual power and world order”. (Tilley 1994:40)

Unlike the western context, these models are not presented as neutral or abstract, but are integrally bound to social and spiritual perceptions of the world (Bender 1999). The landscape is thus mapped in spiritual terms as complex networks of relationships that extend through time and space. Morphy suggests that the network of linkages between ancestral beings and places means that the landscape is not just a collection of symbols about the ancestral past, but is integral to the passing on of cultural information, and “a referent for much of the symbolism” (cited in Head 2000:141).

For New Zealand Māori, the landscape is also represented as woven with genealogy, and iwi members are tied to particular landscapes through interwoven and layered descent lines (Klaricich 2001; Russell 2000). The concept of networks of relationships between people that is inherent in the English term ‘genealogy’, is used more broadly in the Māori term ‘whakapapa’ to include layers of relationships between people and nature, between people and gods, and between people and cultural concepts (Ka'ai 2004). Durie describes the connections and interdependencies between humans, spiritual beings and the natural world as an interacting network of related elements (Durie 1998). Kawharu (2000) extends the metaphor further, suggesting that time and space are mapped through whakapapa, which

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orders the elements of the universe in linear (descent-time) and lateral (kinship-space) layers. The temporality of the landscape is therefore continuously conveyed to the present through networks of genealogical relationships as well as the layering of relationships over time.

‘Maps’ of relationships such as these are typically conveyed in songs, chants and art and through spiritual constructs. The song of Kiwi Tamaki, for example, recites the geographic boundaries of a famous ancestor and his descendents, weaving in the tribal groups, their leaders, their achievements and their landscape symbols. The entire landscape of New Zealand is covered by such songs, chants or sayings (Taua 2003).

Western temporal models

Landscape models that include a temporal dimension are relatively rare. While the past is of particular interest to western historians and prehistorians, relatively few dimensional models appear to have been developed in these disciplines to frame the temporality of landscape. History, for example, is traditionally sourced from documentation and is told as narrative. Prehistorians’ interest in past landscapes is more likely to focus on a particular era or kind of site rather than its temporal dimensions (Fleming 1999)

The few models that do exist which attempt to reflect landscape’s temporal dimensions are also usually concerned with its spatiality. Landscape history, for example, seeks to understand the evolution of the landscape, describing and predicting keystone processes that shape the landscape over time. This may include not only identification of successive cultures but also how each was connected to its physical environment (Marcucci 2000). Fieldwork, aerial survey, scientific techniques and historical resources are used, and outputs are usually a combination of narrative and mapping techniques (Aalen 2001). An environmental history of the Snowy River in Australia, for example, presented a chronological history of land use, exploration and settlement history for segments of the river, woven with samples of perceptual responses and naming practices (Seddon 1997).

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Layering is a relatively common graphic tool used to convey historical information (Marcucci 2000). A landscape study of the Rideau Canal Corridor in Canada, for example, used a concept of historic ‘impulses’ to record the main changes which created the landscape (e.g. early surveys; industrialisation). The landscape was also analysed in terms of character-defining attributes, which were grouped as elements, features, patterns, practices, traditions and uses (Stovel et al. 1998). In another example in New Zealand, a ‘cultural’ approach to landscape evaluation assessed human values with reference to distinctive phases and areas of settlement and land uses (Lister 1999).

Temporal analysis can also focus on the layering of social processes over time. Darvill (1999) models landscape as a “time-dependent, spatially referenced, socially constituted template” held in common by individuals and groups, where time is both a subjective representation built into codes and beliefs, and an objective process (p110). Smith (1999) similarly conceptualises ‘social landscapes’ as multiple layers of sedimented meaning, capable of differential interpretation according to the social and political position of the speaker.

However, as Darvill (1999) notes, time-space-action models of landscape have yet to find extensive application in landscape-related disciplines. Indigenous models, on the other hand, incorporate concepts of both space and time.

Webs and layers model

A further model to consider is the ‘Webs and Layers’ model which I developed in 2001 to represent the spatial and temporal dimensions of heritage landscapes (Stephenson 2001a; 2001b) (see Appendix 2). In the context of heritage management, this model proposes a ‘way of seeing’ heritage at a landscape scale, to enable its spatial and temporal significance to be considered as a whole. It was developed in response to a concern that most heritage evaluations are based on the classification of landscapes into classes or types, often prior to

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a careful analysis of the multiple values present in the landscape. The model was intended as both a conceptual approach and a value analysis, to be applied prior to typological and management decisions of heritage landscapes. It represented landscapes as layers of the past, each of which could be seen as a web of linked places and spaces, and given meaning by stories. However the approach taken in the model potentially has wider application, so its fundamental components will be described here.

The webs and layers model suggests that a heritage landscape can be considered as consisting of the following elements: - point locations (e.g. buildings) - one-dimensional features (lineal structures and forms such as roads and tracks as well as non-visible networks such as historic routes and communication systems) - two-dimensional features (spaces which are themselves of heritage significance or which contribute to significance, e.g. settlement patterns; designed gardens; farm layout; the relationships between sites) - three-dimensional features (layers of features or associations that have developed over time. These layers are not necessarily physical; they may be layers of association and use) - the perceptual dimension (relationships between people and their surroundings such as histories and myths) The model integrates these elements by suggesting that landscapes can be considered spatially as webs, and temporally as layers. A web is created of interconnected strands meeting at nodes and is given form and integrity by its lineal and areal dimensions. It represents those aspects of a landscape that were formed by or had meaning and significance to people of a particular era. Where several eras have formed a landscape, the webs become layered; some parts of the web are destroyed, others are re-used, and other parts are restructured. Temporality is thus represented by the layered and interconnecting webs.

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The webs and layers model offers some useful concepts towards a dimensional landscape model, particularly in regard to reflecting temporal and spatial dimensions. Its shortcomings in relation to the Cultural Values Model are its minimal reference to practices and landscape dynamics.

7.3.4 Discussion

The review of landscape models reveals a strong emphasis on representing landscape as a static entity. A relatively narrow range of models seek to represent its dynamic and temporal characteristics.

Static modelling methods typically focus on landscape forms. Common approaches are the direct mapping of chosen landscape features, formalised representations of features and their relationships, the grouping of features or patterns into homogenous typologies, and the sorting of typologies into hierarchies based on spatial or evaluative criteria. Static models of practices, such as land use mapping, use similar techniques. Relationships with landscapes are more commonly conveyed via narrative, which may be linked to physical maps or models. Relationships can also be conveyed via mental maps, which may represent personal or shared models. Dynamic models primarily focus on the interchange between forms and practices in the landscape, although some may also seek to incorporate relationships. Dynamism is predominantly represented by network concepts. Three elements stand out as being common to many of the dynamic models: significant parts of the landscape are identified through terms such as nodes, places or landmarks; linkages between parts of the landscape are described as networks, interconnections, flows or corridors; and places of relative homogeneity are described as patches or patterns.

Temporal models use both layering and network concepts. In western disciplinary models, layers may represent eras of physical change, keystone processes, or major societal changes. The two indigenous models use network concepts to convey continuity between

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past and present. Aboriginal models use songlines, which not only connect places but also provide links between ancestral time and the present. Māori whakapapa offers a model of time and space that is founded in the networks and layers of relationships between people and the natural and spiritual realms. The Webs and Layers model also uses network and layering concepts.

In short, the modelling methods that involve networks (or systems) and layers appear to best reflect the concepts inherent in the Cultural Values Model. These modelling approaches are shared across disciplines and are also used in the two non-western models reviewed.

7.4 Developing the Dimensional Landscape Model

The role of a model is to offer a ‘core’ language that designates a set of common features that capture the essential characteristics of the phenomena to be modelled (Gudeman and Penn 1982). The intent of the Dimensional Landscape Model is to offer a conceptual framework for linking multiple sources of information about landscape significance to the landscape itself. The model sought is not an evaluation tool in the sense of a landscape quality assessment, and does not therefore seek to offer a way of producing landscape typologies or evaluation methods. Its potential role is a step before this, to provide a clustering point for key landscape information and values.

A fundamental requirement of the model is to represent the key components of the Cultural Values Model – forms, practices and relationships – in static, dynamic and temporal dimensions. This requires the model to offer an appropriate array of units of description, which are as refined as possible, yet are able to convey concepts of space, time and connectedness.

In this sense, many of the models reviewed have little to offer. Direct mapping of landscape features is an inappropriate model, as it offers little more to the understanding of

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cultural values than, say, an aerial photograph. Typologies and hierarchies are also of little use as they are necessarily based on evaluative criteria particular to the discipline which is using them. Additionally they focus predominantly on static landscape components and physical features. Mental maps may well be highly informative but do not offer a consistent approach sought for a model. None of these modelling approaches has sufficient sophistication to convey the dimensions of landscape expressed by the Cultural Values Model.

However several key ‘dimensional’ descriptors which potentially achieve these functions can be drawn from similarities and synergies within systems models, layering models, indigenous models and the Webs and Layers model. The key concepts offered by these models are nodes, networks, spaces, webs and layers.

7.4.1 Nodes

Within the models examined, ‘node’ is a relatively common term used to refer to specific places of significance in the landscape. The term is used with similar meanings in static models (e.g. Lynch 1960; Lister 1999), dynamic models (e.g. Haggett, Cliff, and Frey 1977) and temporal models (e.g. Stephenson 2001a).

Other terms that are used to refer to special places include ‘landmarks’ or ‘places’. Some models refer separately to ‘landmarks’ as being specific features by which people locate themselves (e.g. Lynch 1960), or which have particular cultural meaning (e.g. Ayres and Mauricio 1999). The main point of difference for Lynch is that nodes are those places that a person is travelling through or to, whereas landmarks are seen but not entered into. I suggest that landmarks can be considered to be nodes for which the connections are non- physical (e.g. visual, associative) rather than necessarily linked through human movement.

‘Place’ is used in some landscape models in a sense largely equivalent to ‘node’. Conceptions of place, however, are extremely varied depending on the context. They

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encompass geographic elements (Anderson and Gale 1992), ‘genius loci’ (Norberg-Schulz 1979), and the core of our felt values (Tuan 1977). It can even be used in a similar sense to ‘landscape’. While it has an attractive indeterminacy, its many potential interpretations make it less suitable for use within a model than the more defined and limited ‘node’.

FIGURE 22: Nodes in the landscape

As used in the models described, ‘node’ identifies a juncture or an elementary point of significance. Usually smaller than the concept of place, but sometimes overlapping, it may be important visually or functionally, as a place of meaning, as a juncture in a network, the location of an action, or as a place of remembrance.

For the purposes of the model, a node is taken to represent a concentration of value associated with a physical form, a relationship, or a practice, or a combination of these. Figure 22 shows this diagrammatically. That the node in the diagram appears to have a defined edge does not necessarily reflect a crisp physical limit. The value represented by a

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node may well have no physical presence, and thus cannot be said to have a physical boundary. The diagram, rather, represents the concept of concentrated significance.

7.4.2 Networks

Many of the models reviewed define networks (sometimes referred to as paths, routes or flows) – as being fundamental to landscape structure. Applications of the concept use it as a connector between nodes, a medium for the movement of social, economic and political relations, or to delimit spaces (Darvill, Gerrard, and Startin 1993; Lynch 1960).

FIGURE 23: Networks in the landscape

Networks can be physical features, such as a road or river. They can model movement or flows – both physical (e.g. walking) and non-physical (e.g. information flows). Networks can also model relationships, such as the songlines of Aboriginal Australians, and the genealogical networks of relationships in Māori tribal culture. Networks are thus a useful component for the Dimensional Landscape Model.

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7.4.3 Spaces

‘Space’ is a another word with many applications – in one sense it can be used as equivalent to ‘landscape’ to describe part of the lived world in objective and “desacralised” terms (Entrikin 1991:62-3); in another sense it can incorporate a sense of ‘place’ or existential meaning (Relph 1976); in another it can mean “where something is not” (Edward T. Hall cited in Orser 1996:134-5). In seeking to model a dimensioned landscape, ‘space’ is important in all these senses.

FIGURE 24: Spaces in the landscape

The idea of ‘space between things’ is implicit in most landscape models, conveyed through the differentially mapped location of places, or descriptions of the distance between them. For the Dimensional Landscape Model it is necessary that ‘space’ is made explicit, as the space between things may have as much significance as the things themselves. Space may also delimit the extent of nodes, be integral to the distinctive patterns of a landscape, provide a setting for relationships, or be implicit in practices. For representational purposes, ‘space’ may also include areas of homogeneity, such as a physical area of forest,

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or, more subjectively, areas defined as having a particular value (‘beauty’ or ‘sacredness’, for example).

7.4.4 Webs

Interactions between parts of the landscape may be described in terms of ‘systems’ or ‘webs’. ‘Systems’ is usually used in respect of the dynamic interchanges within a landscape. I have adopted the term ‘webs’ as a potentially broader concept which is inclusive of the dynamic sense of ‘systems’. The idea of webs is implicit in the indigenous models, and explicit in the ‘Webs and Layers’ model.

FIGURE 25: Web in the landscape

Building on the three previous elements, a web can represent how nodes, networks and spaces interact as a whole. As well as indicating the static relationships between landscape elements, webs can be used to represent the dynamic interactions of the landscape forms, practices and relationships. Webs can be considered as the dimensioned ‘whole’ created by nodes, networks and spaces. They can be considered at any scale, from a city street, to a farm scale, to a visual catchment or beyond.

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No web is an isolated entity: each exists only to the extent that is it supported by other webs - the larger webs within which it is located, and the smaller webs which are embedded in it. Where a particular order or homogeneity is reflected in a landscape, patterns may occur. Patterns can be conceptualised as smaller, distinctive, repeating webs within the broader web of the landscape as a whole.

FIGURE 26: Patterns as embedded webs

7.4.5 Layers

Where temporal dimensions are represented in disciplinary models, it is most often conveyed through the concept of layering; that is, considering landscape as a series of layers through time. Typically, ‘slices’ of the past are represented by reference to critical periods or events. The layering concept is useful because it can reference both continuity and change in the landscape. Continuity is shown where landscape forms, relationships or practices are sustained over many layers. Change is indicated when abrupt or gradual differences occur in forms, relationships or practices. This can be visually presented as in Figure 27:

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FIGURE 27: Using layers to convey temporality in the landscape

The indigenous models reviewed use a different approach. The past is in many ways contemporaneous with the present in the landscape. The concept of the ‘flow of time’ is less relevant, and time is instead threaded through networks of relationships. These networks convey continuity and interconnectedness between forms, relationships and practices. Figure 28 portrays this conceptually.

FIGURE 28: Using networks to convey temporality in the landscape

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7.4.6 Discussion

The review of disciplinary and indigenous models of landscape showed that relatively few models exist which attempt to reflect the multiple dimensions of landscape, and that no single disciplinary model incorporates dynamic and temporal aspects of landscape in terms of the three components of forms, relationships and practices. Some models did, however, offer useful dimensional concepts, which have been drawn upon to develop the Dimensional Landscape Model.

The Cultural Values Model suggests that landscapes consist of forms, relationships and practices interacting over time. The Dimensional Landscape Model builds on this concept, and proposes that valued forms, relationships and practices can be described in terms of nodes, networks, spaces, webs and layers. Each of these dimensions can represent one or more of the three fundamental landscape components.

A node, for example, may be a sacred place which has physical form, a concentration of particular cultural meaning, and/or the location of specified practices. A network may represent a physical path, an associative relationship between two places, or the movement of people from one place to another. The significance of space may be recognised in terms of forms (e.g. a skyline of hills), practices (the farming activity on the hills) and relationships (e.g. literature or art relating to the hills).

The model also enables spatiality, dynamics and temporality to be represented. A passive spatial understanding of landscape can be conveyed through a web that includes relevant nodes, networks and spaces. A dynamic view can be provided by considering active interactions between forms, practices and relationships using network concepts. A temporal view can be conceptually conveyed through layers of webs (which may show both continuities and discontinuities) and networks (which are more likely to show continuities).

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The key components of the Cultural Values Model can thus be conveyed by the dimensions of nodes, networks, spaces, webs and layers. Table 7 shows the variety of uses to which dimensional concept can be put. Bannockburn examples are used to illustrate how the dimensions could be used to convey key values in the landscape.

TABLE 7: Conveying the values of the landscape as a whole through landscape dimensions

Landscape dimensions (left hand column) can represent forms, relationships and/or practices, and can convey static, dynamic and/or temporal aspects of the landscape. Using all of the dimensions, the values of the landscape as a whole can be conveyed (examples are chosen from Bannockburn findings). (Note the blanks in the table indicate that the relevant dimension is not suitable for conveying the relevant aspects of landscape).

Conveying static Conveying dynamic Conveying temporal aspects of landscape aspects of landscape aspects of landscape Nodes Located forms (e.g. historic building) Located relationships (e.g. site of story) Located practices (e.g. swimming hole) Networks Linear forms (e.g. Community dynamics Networks of roads) relating to church genealogical Linear relationships building (form), relationships (e.g. links between coal community and and gold mines) spiritual significance Linear practices (e.g. (relationship) and water conveyance) practices (services, weddings, etc) Spaces Spatial forms (e.g. hills) Spatial relationships (e.g. beauty) Spatial practice (e.g. farming) Webs Historic interactions within the landscape in mining era Layers Layers of past eras (Māori, farming, mining etc)

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7.5 Conclusion

The Dimensional Landscape Model described is the culmination of the model-building process. The model has been designed to provide a link between conceptual and functional approaches to landscape, by providing a way of linking cultural values and the landscape. Alternatively, if it is accepted that the concept of ‘landscape’ is itself an expression of cultural value, this could be restated to say that the Dimension Landscape Model is designed to highlight the key cultural values that are present in the landscape. It does so by offering a way of considering the static, dynamic and temporal dimensions of cultural values.

The Cultural Values Model and Dimensional Landscape Model are closely interrelated. It is proposed that the two models offer the potential for an integrated understanding of landscape values, by providing a conceptual basis for accounting for a wide range of cultural values, and a way of expressing the values in their spatial and temporal dimensions.

I have suggested that the sources of landscape value are disciplines on the one hand, and communities of interest on the other. The two models have been developed primarily from an analysis of disciplinary approaches, with input from the Bannockburn study and indigenous approaches, but their usefulness for understanding a specific landscape is still unknown. Additionally, the form of the models must remain tentative until they can be shown to have relevance to understanding both disciplinary and community-expressed values. Accordingly, the following chapter tests the models for their validity and utility by applying them to a specific landscape – the Akaroa basin.

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CHAPTER 8

APPLYING THE MODELS:

AKAROA CASE STUDY

8.1 Introduction

Decision-makers are faced with two fundamental questions before management decisions are made for landscapes with significant cultural values. These questions are: ‘What are the cultural values of the landscape?’ and ‘Do they have locational signficance?’ The models developed in Part II are designed to assist in answering these questions. The Cultural Values Model offers a framework within which to discover and consider multiple cultural values. The Dimensional Landscape Model proposes a structured way of considering the dimensions of landscape values in relation to the physical environment.

The Akaroa case study represented the final component of the research process. It had two functions. The first was to verify the findings of the Bannockburn study. The second was to use the data generated by a real landscape to assess whether the models were relevant to the types of values that emerged, and whether they offered insights into the nature and dimensions of values expressed.

This chapter records the process of discovering, analysing and synthesising information about cultural values in the Akaroa Basin. In falls into two main parts, the first part (Sections 8.2 and 8.3) drawing from existing sources of information about the nature and significance of the landscape, and the second part (Sections 8.4-8.7) reporting on the interview findings and applying the models.

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In Section 8.2, the physical and historical context of the Akaroa study area is established, drawing from geographic and historical sources. This background was essential in order to understand the nature and significance of many of the cultural values identified by community members. Section 8.3 outlines other known discipline-based studies undertaken in the Akaroa area relating to the landscape. Included also is the Ngai Tahu Resource Management Strategy, which provides a brief overview of aspects of the landscape that are culturally important to the Māori tribal group for this area (Tau et al. 1990). The relevant planning provisions for the area are also briefly scoped.

The chapter then moves to consider the interview data. Section 8.4 describes the methodology used in the case study. In Section 8.5, the findings are first described at a general level, and their validity in relation to the Bannockburn pilot study is discussed. The interview data and other relevant landscape information are then analysed, using the Cultural Values Model in Section 8.6, and the Dimensional Landscape Model in Section 8.7. The final section draws some conclusions about the usefulness of the models in providing an integrated understanding of cultural values in the Akaroa landscape.

8.2 The study context

The Akaroa Basin is the catchment of the Akaroa Harbour, which is located on the east coast of the South Island of New Zealand (see Figure 2, Chapter 3). It is in the south part of a volcanic protuberance known as Banks Peninsula, situated on the coast of the otherwise-alluvial Canterbury Plains. The boundary of the study area is the ridgeline which delineates the Akaroa harbour catchment. This ridge is a dominant feature of the landscape and visually contains the area (Figures 29, 30).

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FIGURE 29: The Akaroa study area

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Within the study area, the long Akaroa Harbour is surrounded by a spectacular skyline of an encircling volcanic ridge, dropping to numerous valleys. On the edge of the harbour are a number of small settlements, of which Akaroa is the largest. On the hills, the land is predominantly pastoral with patches of indigenous vegetation. Some rural properties are partially reverting to forest and/or weed species. The population of the study area in 2001 was 1257, with the settlement of Akaroa accounting for 792 of this figure (Statistics New Zealand 2001).

8.2.1 Geological history

The formation of Banks Peninsula began about 12 million years ago, when volcanic activity created an island approximately 70 kilometres from the original mainland. A volcanic cone arose at Akaroa some 9 million years ago, at its peak reaching to around 1800 metres above sea level.

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FIGURE 30: Looking south-east across the upper Akaroa harbour1

Volcanic activity ended around six million years ago, after which the Akaroa mountain eroded to the point where the sea broke through, creating the Akaroa harbour. Banks Peninsula remained an island for most of its geological history, gradually becoming linked to the mainland through outwash from the alluvial Canterbury plains (Wilson 1992).

The rocky peaks that rim the horizon today are remnants of the volcano, as is the prominent Onawe peninsula jutting out into the harbour, which is reputedly formed from the volcanic plug (Figure 30). The volcanic rock underlying the soil is responsible for the steep-sided nature of the basin. Rock features arising from the volcanic activity, such as crags, vents, dykes, and boulder-strewn hillsides, typify the higher country (Figure 31) (Barley 1974; Lowndes 1996).

1 The photographs in this chapter are taken by the author

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FIGURE 31: Volcanic feature near Oteauheke / Brasenose

Despite its volcanic origins, the island/peninsula was forested for most of its existence. During the ice ages, the tall podocarp/hardwood forests would have retreated to sheltered coastal valleys and slopes, while subalpine species such as tussock expanded. Within the past 14,000 years, plants which enjoy warm temperate conditions, such as nikau palm and kawakawa, have increased. The isolation of the area for much of its existence led to the development of species endemic to Banks Peninsula (Wilson 1992). Prior to the arrival of humans, the study area would have been predominantly forested, with patches of subalpine vegetation on the higher areas of the ridgeline.

8.2.2 Māori settlement

Known to Māori as Te Pataka o Rakaihautu, or Horomaka, Banks Peninsula was an attractive place for Māori from the first settlement period, around 750-800 years ago (Holdaway and Jacomb 2000; Higham, Anderson, and Jacomb 1999). Its sheltered bays offered calm water and places for habitation and gardening, and its forested valleys held

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immense flocks of birds and timber for canoes, carvings and buildings. Wairewa (Lake Forsyth) was a rich eel fishery; the inner harbours and rocky shores offered fish and beds of shellfish. Abundant fishing grounds and a whale migration route lay offshore. In Māori tradition, Te Pataka o Rakaihautu was renowned for its rich resources by Māori communities throughout Te Wai Pounamu (South Island) (Evison 1993).

Sixteen archaeological sites relating to Māori occupation and use have been recorded in the study area, including middens (prehistoric deposits of shells, bones etc), ovens, pa (fortified sites), pits and a fish trap (New Zealand Archaeological Association 2004) (see Figure 32). The area, however, has never been systematically surveyed and there may well be far more archaeological sites (Chris Jacomb, pers. comm.). Only one archaeological excavation of a Māori site has been undertaken in the study area. This investigation, at Takamatua in 1969, revealed an occupation site that was dated to about 600 years ago. Flakes from the making of stone tools included stone types that possibly came from as far away as Grays Hills, some 220 km south-west, and Mayor Island, off Coromandel on the North Island coast, suggesting active trading networks (Trotter 1973).

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FIGURE 32: Recorded archaeological sites in the Akaroa study area

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Everyday life for Māori in Akaroa was likely to have been similar to that found from archaeological excavations and research at Panau, a village site in a sheltered bay on the north-east coast of Banks Peninsula, just outside of the study area. Panau was lived at intermittently and/or permanently over at least 300 years (early sixteenth to early nineteenth century). The site included houses, terraces and defensive earthworks. Activities included gardening, karaka tree orchards, and fishing. A wide range of bone and stone ornaments and tools were made, including pendants, adzes and fish hooks. Food sources included the sea (fish, shellfish, seals etc) and the forested interior (birds, fruits). Trading routes along the coast and inland provided for exchanges of products such as tool-making stones, pounamu (greenstone) and valued foods (Jacomb 2000).

Over time, Māori developed a particular relationship with the land and sea: When Māori looked at land, he did not see an area of so many hectares which could be divided, subdivided, rented, leased or sold. Instead he saw certain resources, which could be used to feed, house, clothe and equip him and his whanau. He saw the various mahinga kai for food – such as the swamps and creeks for eeling and the cabbage-trees for ti-kauru. He saw the varieties of flax for clothing and fishing-nets, the trees for canoes, buildings, palisades and firewood, and the varieties of stone for ornaments or weapons. And he saw places associated with his many atua (gods) and with the births, lives and deaths of his tupuna (forbears) (Evison 1993:9).

The relationships described by Evison are borne out in the places, names, stories and traditions in the Akaroa landscape. The Ngai Tahu tradition is that the land of Te Wai Pounamu (South Island) was formed from a canoe which foundered on a submerged reef, creating the land and turning its occupants into the highest peaks of the Southern Alps. The coastline is the creation of Tū Te Rakiwhānoa, who made the island suitable for human habitation, after which the great explorer Te Rakaihautu travelled along the coast, marking trails, identifying key places and resources, and leaving place names on many coastal features. Akaroa has an important role in this story, as it is here that Te Rakaihautu plunged his kō (digging stick) into the hilltop, where it broke off, leaving its stump behind. It can still be seen on the skyline above Akaroa Harbour as Tuhiraki (Mt Bossu) (Figure 33).

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FIGURE 33: Tuhiraki (Mt Bossu) – the stump of Te Rakaihautu’s kō

Names of places around Akaroa harbour attest to its rich food resources and record the interactions of people with the landscape (see Figure 35 for locations of place names). Places associated with fishing include Nga Ka Kai Au (referring to flounder caught and threaded with a bone needle), Kaimatarau (food procured with a spear), Tau Kakaha (stringing guffy, a plentiful fish in this location), Te Rapa Te Kakau (a large rock used to tie fishing nets to), and Oputaputa (which refers to the loss of a great haul of fish). Places for drying or curing fish for later use include Whata Mako (a storehouse for shark) and Wharetuere (a place for catching blind eels which were dried and cured). Names relating to shellfish gathering include Whakakuku (the place for mussels) and Pipi Karetu (hanging shellfish). The use of cabbage trees for food is recorded in the names Kaiwaitau (the name of food from the heart of the tree) and Te Uru Ti (a cabbage tree plantation). Other food

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resources captured in names include Te Kaio (the sea tulip, esteemed as a food) and Turi Pu Tutu (to kneel and pick tutu berries, which were processed to extract the juice) (Lowndes 2002; Andersen 1976). Many of these names are no longer in common use.

Village sites were located near the water around the harbour (e.g. Onuku, Takapuneke, Wainui, Ohae). Those living in the villages had close associations, and stations for signalling between the two sides of the harbour are recorded in names such as Mairaki, Otahukoka and Te Ahi Taraiti. For times of war or unrest, pa (fortified sites) were constructed, such as O Te Hore and Onawe. There are many burial places, and places where bodies were prepared for burial. These are tapu (sacred) and only a few are in the public record (e.g. Oteauheke, Otu Te Reinga). The misty peaks and rocky pinnacles of the hills around the harbour were home to the mythical patupaiarehe, the fairy people. The heights around Purple Peak at the back of Akaroa are known as O Te Patatu, where the patupaiarehe and maero (mythical monsters) lived (Figure 34).

FIGURE 34: O Te Patatu (Purple Peak) at sunset

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Place names also recall the tribal history of the area. Earlier tribal groups Waitaha and Ngati Mamoe were conquered in the 17th century following a successful migratory campaign by the northern tribe of Ngai Tahu to move into the rich southern territories. Today, intermarriage and time has led to most of the South Island being considered Ngai Tahu territory, although roots in earlier tribes such as Ngati Mamoe and Waitaha are still accorded significance. Oinako creek, for example, is named for a Ngati Mamoe chief who was killed here after escaping a battle with Ngai Tahu at Parakakariki (Long Bay) in the late 17th century. The placenames Otokotoko and Iringa Paraoa o Te Rangi Taurewa both relate to the story of Ngai Tahu chief Te Ake, who claimed land in the area following the same battle. Failing to reach Wainui due to the bush and swampy ground, he returned to the flat headland of Otokotoko (the place of the staff) and planted his walking stick in the ground, saying ‘all the land ahead is mine’. Wanting certainty about his claim, he then persuaded Te Rangi Taurewa to row across the bay to a prominent headland and wave his white whalebone club so that Te Ake could see him. The place (the southern point of what is now French Farm) was named after this action (see Figure 35 for place names).

Today, two main hapū (sub-tribes) are associated with the study area, with different but overlapping rohe. The Tawera hapū are particularly associated with Onuku marae, with a rohe that covers the eastern side of the Akaroa basin. The western side of the basin is part of the rohe of the Ngati Mako and Ngati Irakehu hapū associated with Wairewa marae (located out of the study area). Today, these interests overlap at Onawe peninsula (Robin Wybrow and Tim Manawatu, pers. comm.; www.ngaitahu.iwi.nz).

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FIGURE 35: Some traditional Māori names of locations in the Akaroa study area

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8.2.3 Early interactions between Māori and Europeans

The first Europeans to enter the harbour would have seen a landscape of forested hills, permanent and temporary settlements on the harbour’s edge, and some defensible retreats (pa) in the hills. The earliest known European arrival was an English schooner or brig (name unknown) in or about 1791. When it anchored near Onuku, the 200 inhabitants had been warned by their lookout and initially retreated to their hill-top pa above Pakāriki Bay (Akaroa). Their chief Taumouou went aboard, after some hesitation, and was well received, after which others went on board and exchanged flax cloaks for axes and spike nails (Evison 1993). This interchange marked the beginning of a series of forces and events that were to dramatically alter the nature of Māori life in the Akaroa basin, and to set in place a maelstrom of change to the landscape.

Rumours of New Zealand’s rich marine mammals drew sealers and whalers to ply the offshore coastal waters from the 1790s (Smith 2002). The mainland was visited from time to time for resources and recreation, but there is no recorded use of the Akaroa harbour by whaling vessels until around the 1820s, when British, French and American whaling ships began visiting in increasing numbers (Ogilvie 1990). Information on early visits is vague but it is evident that the Akaroa harbour was used as a haven, a source of fresh water, and to trade with Māori for supplies. Accounts also suggest that ‘stray sailors’ who had absconded from their ships lived in the Akaroa area from very early in the nineteenth century (Jacobson 1917). Native flax became a tradeable commodity, and Te Maiharanui, the upoko ariki (head chief) of Ngai Tahu at that time, set up a headquarters at Takapuneke in the Akaroa Harbour to trade dressed flax for European tools and products (Evison 1993).

The burgeoning trade and interactions with Europeans had major impacts on the Māori political situation. The uneven acquisition of muskets from trading with Europeans in more accessible parts of New Zealand gave some tribal groups the opportunity to exact long-held revenge on other groups or to pursue territorial ambitions, killing far greater numbers than was previously possible using traditions weapons. Locally, the Kai Huanga feud in the late

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1820s, in which many people were killed, occurred between related tribal groups. Although no battles relating to this feud occurred in the Akaroa basin, it included people from the Wairewa and Akaroa areas and it had long-term implications for intra-tribal relationships (Evison 1993).

The ambitions of the North Island chief Te Rauparaha, of the Ngati Toa tribe, had an even more devastating impact on Akaroa Māori. In October 1830, building on his earlier incursions into Ngai Tahu territory from the North Island, Te Rauparaha decided to avenge the killing of some of his people at Kaiapoi, a major Ngai Tahu pa. He sought out Ngai Tahu chief Te Maiharanui, who, as previously mentioned, was then trading flax from Takapuneke on the Akaroa Harbour. Te Rauparaha arranged with John Stewart, the captain of the British trading brig Elizabeth, for his war party of nearly 200 men to be conveyed to Akaroa, with the intention of catching Ngai Tahu by surprise. Arriving in Akaroa in early November, Te Rauparaha and his men hid below decks for several days while Stewart sent repeated messages to Te Maiharanui to come to the ship to discuss flax trading. Te Maiharanui was away supervising flax production but arrived after a few days, and was captured along with his wife and daughter, and incarcerated below decks. Other tribal members also arrived at the ship and were captured, but those on shore suspected nothing. That night, the Ngati Toa war-party attacked the village of Takapuneke, set it alight and killed many of the men, women and children. The following day, further raids were carried out on both sides of the harbour. After more than a week at Akaroa, the brig set sail again with a number of Ngai Tahu prisoners who were later killed or enslaved (Evison 1993). The former village site of Takapuneke was abandoned from this point (Figure 36).

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FIGURE 36: Takapuneke, the location of Te Rauparaha’s first massacre in 1830 The structures in the centre relate to the town sewerage scheme

The devastation did not stop there. Two years later, in 1832, Te Rauparaha returned to Akaroa. News of his intentions had preceded him, and the people of Akaroa and Wairewa hastily built a fortified pa at Onawe peninsula (Figure 37). Attempts to defend themselves against the onslaught were to no avail, and almost all of them were massacred or taken prisoner, with only fifteen escaping (Evison 1993).

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FIGURE 37: Onawe peninsula, location of Te Rauparaha’s second massacre in 1832

During the 1830s and 40s, further deaths resulted from the new diseases brought by Europeans – smallpox, measles, venereal diseases, etc. – to which the Māori had no immunity (Lowndes 1996; Ogilvie 1990). It was a seriously depleted local population that remained in the Akaroa area to respond to increasing European trade, and the pressure from Europeans to use and purchase the land.

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8.2.4 European settlement

The first notable influx of Europeans was the establishment of several shore-based whaling stations in the coastal bays of the Peninsula from the late 1830s, including bays near the mouth of Akaroa Harbour such as Peraki, Ikoraki, Oashore and Island Bay. Māori traded with the whalers and also worked as whalers themselves.

The first known European to reside in Akaroa was James Robinson Clough, who arrived in 1837 and married a Māori woman (Ogilvie 1990). In this period, various purported land deals were made with Māori for parts of Banks Peninsula, with sometimes the same piece of land being ‘purchased’ several times over, and at times the ‘sales’ being on-sold to others. One of these sales was to the Sydney syndicate of Cooper, Holt and Rhodes, which resulted in Captain W.B. Rhodes landing a herd of short-horn cattle at Takapuneke on 10 November 1839 – reputedly the first cattle station in Canterbury (Jacobson 1917) or the South Island (Ogilvie 1990). Another ‘sale’ was to French whaling captain Jean Langlois, who returned to France in 1839 enthusing over the potential of the Akaroa area. The result was the formation of the Nanto-Bordelaise Company in France, and the subsequent migration of a shipload of about 60 French and German settlers bound for Akaroa (Evison 1993).

Around the same time, the British Crown had somewhat reluctantly undertaken to respond to a growing concern about the lawlessness of British subjects in New Zealand (including the role of Captain Stewart in the Takapuneke massacre). It instructed Captain Hobson to enter into a treaty with the Māori tribes to enable British colonisation. Following the initial signing of the Treaty at Waitangi on 6 February 1840, Hobson instructed Major Bunbury to sail to the South Island to collect as many signatures of tribal chiefs as he could. Towards the end of May 1840, the Herald came into the Akaroa harbour and anchored off the Māori settlement of Onuku. After a couple of days of discussions and weather-induced delays, the Māori chiefs Iwikau and Tikao signed the Treaty on 30 May, being the first in the South

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Island to do so. The Herald then left Akaroa on its search for more signatures further south (Evison 1993).

Meanwhile, the group of French and German colonists that had embarked with Captain Jean Langlois were on their way to Akaroa to found a new settlement. A French naval corvette with 160 crew under Captain Lavaud also sailed to New Zealand with the task of guarding the proposed French colony. Arriving first at the Bay of Islands in July 1840, Captain Lavaud was informed that New Zealand was now a British colony, and that all land claims would need to be examined by a commission. Lavaud protested this, but Hobson and Lavaud agreed not to take the matter further until the wishes of their respective governments had become known (Evison 1993). Nevertheless, Hobson, fearing that the French would attempt to claim the entire South Island, instructed Commander Stanley to proceed to Akaroa in the HMS Britomart to prevent any French attempt at sovereignty. They were instructed to ‘show the flag’ and to hold a magisterial court to show the British sovereignty was in full force.

The Britomart arrived at Akaroa on 10 August and duly performed the rituals of sovereignty, holding courts at Akaroa and local whaling stations, and flying the British flag from the promontory known as Green’s Point (Figure 38) (Andersen 1976; Evison 1993). When the French naval corvette arrived on the 15th August, and the French and German settlers on the 17th August, the British again asserted their prior sovereignty and Lavaud agreed to accept the situation while waiting instructions from his government (Evison 1993). Meanwhile, the would-be settlers disembarked and began to organise their new lives on new soil.

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FIGURE 38: Britomart memorial, Greens Point

At this point there were already some Europeans living in Akaroa Harbour, such as the two stockmen managing Rhodes’ cattle, who were present when Bunbury visited with the Treaty in 1840. However the French ship was the first organised group of settlers, and they began to clear land and build houses, the French in Pakāriki Bay (now the north end of Akaroa) and the Germans in Takamatua, the next bay north. A rough road was built between these two places in 1842. To supply the needs of the permanently stationed French warship, a farm was established on the opposite side of the harbour at what is now French Farm (Figure 39).

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FIGURE 39: French Farm

More Europeans (English, Irish and Scots) began to arrive in the early 1840s (Jacobson 1917). A French map published in 1843 shows small English settlements at Wainui, Duvauchelle, Robinsons Bay and just south of Akaroa; French settlements at Akaroa and Takamatua, the naval farm at French Farm; and Māori settlements at Onuku, Tikao Bay and south of Wainui (anon. 1843). By 1844 there were 28 weatherboard houses at Akaroa, scattered on small farm allotments (Tremewan 1990). The harbour remained a port of call for shipping, being one of the few safe retreats on the coast. Māori continued to supply provisions to visiting ships and to the settlers (Ogilvie 1990), and in due course the settlers were also able to supply foods such as vegetables, potatoes, and wheat (Jacobson 1917). Whaling declined from the early 1840s, but French and American whaling ships still called in at Akaroa until the mid 1860s, although in decreasing numbers (Ogilvie 1990).

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FIGURE 40: Some place names relating to early European occupation

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English settlement began in earnest in 1850, when the Monarch, an English settler ship bound for Auckland, came into the harbour for repairs. The passengers liked what they saw, and 41 decided to remain (Tremewan 1990). More settlers followed, and the increasing population, together with the decline of provisioning whaling ships, induced a shift to more extensive land-based activities. The pressure for land led to a complex series of land sales, some of dubious legitimacy, and ultimately resulted in almost all land in the Akaroa basin becoming owned by Europeans or by the Crown. Two small ‘native reserves’ at Onuku (426 acres) and Opukutahi (432 acres) were granted to local Māori after they strongly protested through the courts that they had been left no land with which to support themselves. The loss of land, on top of the massacres of the 1830s and poor resistance to new diseases, led to a much-reduced Māori presence in the area (Evison 1993).

As land was subdivided and sold, European settlers set about the task of practical colonisation. The forested hills were gradually cleared for pasture, timber mills were set up, tracks built, and flour mills established. With the abundance of timber, a boat building industry also developed. By the 1880s, timber mills had made substantial inroads into the more accessible areas (Wilson 1987). As land was cleared, agricultural practices spread, particularly dairying, cattle and the growing of cocksfoot for seed. A fishing industry was also an ongoing feature of the harbour.

Many of the European names in the landscape (see Figure 40) relate to this early period of settlement. Some names describe physical aspects of places, such as Hilltop, where the main road to Akaroa reaches the saddle, and Purple Peak, which turns purple in some sunset conditions. Red House Bay is named after a house built by W.B. Rhodes in 1839 (Andersen 1976). French Farm refers to the area on the west side of the harbour which was farmed by members of the French navy. Some places were named after people – Barrys Bay after a shepherd, Robinsons Bay after magistrate Charles Robinson, Haylocks Bay after the Haylock family, and Greens Point after W. Green, one of Rhodes’ stockmen and later a publican. Duvauchelle is named after two French brothers who settled at Akaroa and were granted sections at Duvauchelle but did not live there (Andersen 1976). Brasenose

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is named after the Oxford University college attended by an ancestor of the Haylock family (P. Haylock, pers. comm.). The European names are less indicative of the way of life than the Māori names, mainly reflecting names and physical features. While in some cases European names have replaced the earlier Māori names (on official maps at least), some Māori names have been retained or are used interchangeably with European ones.

FIGURE 41: Old farmhouse surrounded by shelter trees

8.2.5 The landscape since 1900

The clearing of bush was largely complete by 1900, and any timber milling following this was on a minor scale (Barley 1974). Milk from the small dairy herds was initially made into butter and cheese on individual farms, but a number of co-operative dairy factories were established from 1892 onwards (Pawson 1987). Cocksfoot growing became a major local industry, with up to half the fields in any one farm being set aside for this. By 1900,

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up to 1000 casual labourers were needed for the cocksfoot harvest, but this industry declined in the twentieth century. Dairying peaked in the 1920s but continued, although many dairy factories closed in the 1960s as sheep and beef farming became dominant (Pawson 1987). Akaroa remained relatively isolated for most of this period, the main road in from Christchurch being unsealed until the late 1960s. Māori retained a strong presence, centred particularly on the reserve lands at Onuku and Opukutahi.

FIGURE 42: The settlement of Akaroa

Over the past two decades, a decline in the viability of smaller farms (Figure 41) has coincided with increased mobility and affluence, and the area’s attractions have drawn in many new residents. The small harbour-edge settlements have grown, and rural lifestyle blocks and new horticultural activities have begun to change the face of the rural hinterlands. Tourism, always a feature, has increased markedly, with the area’s appeals including the spectacular landscape, safe harbour and the quasi-French identity and colonial charm of the township of Akaroa (Figure 42). The area has become popular as a retirement

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haven, holiday resort, and a place to own a holiday home. The permanently based population is accordingly relatively low – the 2001 census showed that in the Akaroa census area unit, 61.3 per cent of dwellings in Akaroa township were unoccupied (Statistics New Zealand 2001, cited in Peart 2004). Rises in property prices have generated a domino effect, whereby farms can be sold for more than their productive capacity is worth, and subdivided to produce even more residential or lifestyle sections. In many places, changed farming practices or non-farming owners have resulted in the regeneration of bush (native forest) on once-cleared pasture (Bob Parker, pers. comm.). Māori have continued to live in the area, and in recent years a marae has been constructed at Onuku with contributions from the local community (Figure 43). Many hapū members no longer live in the Akaroa area but still retain strong genealogical ties with the land and people (Robin Wybrow, Tim Manawatu pers. comm.).

FIGURE 43: Onuku marae (two buildings at left) and church (right, rear)

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8.3 Other studies relating to the Akaroa basin landscape

This brief review is aimed at elucidating the different ways in which values can be expressed by landscape-related disciplines, by examining studies that have been undertaken which identify significant aspects of the Akaroa landscape. Three were undertaken by landscape architects and one by a botanist. A report by Ngai Tahu is also relevant. Most of these studies covered a much broader region than the study area, and were therefore relatively limited on detail relating to the study area.

Two of the studies by landscape architects evaluated aspects of the Banks Peninsula landscape as background reports for the Banks Peninsula Proposed District Plan, a land-use planning document required to be developed under the Resource Management Act 1991. The “Visual Assessment of Banks Peninsula” was produced in December 1991 (Glasson 1991). The objective of this report is to identify vulnerable and important landscapes, those landscapes with potential for development, and to propose guidelines for landscape management. The report is strongly focused on landscape as a visual resource, noting that “satisfactory visual experiences are basic to regional identity and to a personal sense of wellbeing and contentment” (p1). The method divides the region into areal units based on topography and geology. Landscape character is defined via the primary elements of landform, land cover and land use, and “visual expressions” such as form, texture, pattern and colour (p4). Assessment of landscape quality of each landscape unit follows, based on naturalness, rarity, coherence, visibleness and sensitive areas (places where the visual impact of change would be high).

The second landscape assessment, the ‘Landscape Review’, was undertaken of the Lyttelton and Akaroa harbour landscapes in 2000, with the objective of defining areas at the harbour’s edge which require recognition and protection. The report’s focus is on natural character and outstanding natural features and landscapes, with an emphasis on the aesthetic qualities of the landscape (Boffa-Miskell 2000). Aesthetic quality is considered to be dependent on such things as the balance of urban and rural development, the dominant

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skyline, the naturalness of the harbour waters and shoreline, continuous areas of open space, and vegetation patterns of natural appearance (Boffa-Miskell 2000). The report evaluates stretches of coastline based on the degree of natural character and sensitivity to development.

A further landscape assessment was carried out in 2001 for parties in an Environment Court case opposing proposed marine farms in the Akaroa Harbour (Lucas 2001). This study was prepared as evidence for the Court, and is limited to assessing the potential effects of the marine farms on natural character and landscape values and qualities. The evidence notes that ‘landscape’ is not restricted to the visual landscape, and may be considered as both a biophysical entity and as a cultural resource. The assessment approach includes analysis of biophysical features, patterns and processes; the landscape’s impact on the senses; the meanings and values assigned by individuals and communities; and interpretation of how these factors combine to create a sense of place. The methodology divides the area into land units, each of which is assessed in terms of landform, biodiversity, built character and natural character. One land unit is also assessed in terms of its recreational values. General reference is made to sites of cultural and archaeological importance, and a brief review is undertaken of European literature, poetry and art relating to the Akaroa area. The assessment concludes by examining the effects of the proposed mussel farms on landscape values, natural character and amenity for each land unit. This is predominantly based on physical and sensory characteristics although wāhi tapu are noted at some locations.

Significant indigenous ecosystems of the Akaroa area are identified in a survey of Banks Peninsula for the Protected Natural Areas Programme (Wilson 1992). The report divides the Peninsula into ecological districts. These are described in terms of their topography, geology, soils, climate, drainage, vegetation, flora, fauna and land tenure. The report identifies those natural areas that are already protected, and recommends other areas for protection based on their ecological values.

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The other main published source of information about landscape values in the Akaroa area is Te Whakatau Kaupapa - the Ngai Tahu Resource Management Strategy for the Canterbury Region (Tau et al. 1990). Ngai Tahu is the overarching Māori tribe for the majority of the South Island, and the document was prepared in part to inform planning agencies such as district and regional councils about the nature of Ngai Tahu’s relationship with the environment. The report touches on historic, spiritual and cultural matters and also describes particularly valued aspects of the environment. It emphasises the importance of whakapapa in establishing connections within and between tribal groups, allocating rights and responsibilities to resources and participation in tribal life, and as a statement of identity “both genealogically and geographically” (p3-3) 2 . Whakapapa also “links humankind to the atua (deities) and to the earth, to the waters, forests, animals and birds” (p3-3). In this way, all things have a genealogical relationship, and people are directly related to the natural world. The relationships between people, ancestral figures and the landscape are embodied in whakataukī (sayings), stories such as that of Rakaihautu, and in many other spiritual and cultural concepts.

The report also notes that, traditionally, a wide range of natural resources were used to support life, from fisheries to inland sources of food and materials. Hapū would travel seasonally to access key resources, and active trading also took place within and between tribes. Rights to live in and use the resources of an area were determined by manawhenua, the political and occupational authority over a particular area. Prominent landscape features were often named after important ancestors and deities, which reinforced the tribe’s relationship with the landscape. Today, traditional manawhenua boundaries are commonly re-stated by individuals in mihi or formal introductions, by reference to landscape features. A Ngai Tahu example given in the report is: Ko Aoraki te Maunga Ko Waitaki te Awa Ko Ngai Tahu te Iwi (Aoraki is my mountain Waitaki is my River

2 The document uses a section-page numbering system.

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Ngai Tahu is my Tribe) (p3-10)

Waterways are considered to be guarded by taniwha or kaitiaki (guardians). An example given for the Akaroa study area is of two taniwha that live in a cave near Opukutahi, having been left there by Te Ake, a Ngai Tahu rangatira (chief) to safeguard those at sea.

The report notes that the hills of Banks Peninsula are important not only as a source of food, but also because of the wāhi tapu located there. A series of maps at the end of the report places large circles around certain areas of the Akaroa basin, indicating that ‘silent files’ exist for wāhi tapu in these areas – that is, the precise location and significance of each site is confidential.

The Ngai Tahu report was intended to be an overview rather than an exhaustive area-by- area description of cultural values, and therefore does not cover all culturally significant aspects of the Akaroa landscape. More recently, detailed recording of significant places in the Akaroa area has been carried out under the auspices of the Onuku Rūnanga, but this information is confidential and unpublished (Tim Manawatu, pers. comm.).

FIGURE 44: A view out to sea through the Akaroa harbour heads

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8.3.1 The planning context

The study area lies within the planning jurisdiction of the Banks Peninsula District Council. The Banks Peninsula District Plan (2002) contains objectives, policies and rules to, amongst other things, recognise and protect valued aspects of the landscape {Banks Peninsula District Council, 2002 #1024}.

Four categories of valued ‘district wide features’ are recognised in the plan. The first relates to the coastal environment, where the planning objectives seek primarily to protect the ‘natural character’ of this area. The second relates to ‘outstanding natural features and landscapes’, which consist of defined prominent ridgelines, peaks and coastal landscape features. The third recognises ‘cultural heritage’ and here, archaeological sites and historic buildings are identified, along with the central area of Akaroa township. In addition, some sites of cultural significance to Maori are identified as ‘silent files’ where consultation is required prior to new activities being established. The final category is notable trees.

These valued sites and areas are identified on the planning maps either as hatched areas (in the case of coastal and natural landscape areas) or as individual sites (in the case of cultural heritage and trees). Within coastal and natural landscape area, planning rules generally control the location of new structures and forestry. For cultural heritage sites and notable trees, resource consent is generally required for demolition or significant change.

As has been noted in Chapter 2, the planning provisions follow closely the conceptual divisions within the Resource Management Act between natural and cultural values. Apart from within the specific identified sites and areas, there is relatively little management of the nature or extent of new activities or developments.

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8.4 Case study methodology

The primary research into the cultural values of the Akaroa landscape involved 20 interviews of people who had a personal association with case study area. The primary purpose was to gain an understanding of the range of cultural values expressed by insiders. The intention was not to discover all of the cultural values, or to locate all of the places and aspects of the Akaroa landscape considered significant. Rather, the research sought to record the variety of ways in which cultural significance is accorded to a landscape by those who have some attachment to it, and what aspects of the landscape were considered significant. Accordingly, the premise of each interview was simple – it was to attempt to ‘see’ the landscape through the eyes of each respondent, through asking open-ended questions about what was important about the landscape of the study area. The term ‘landscape’ was not defined by the interviewer - this was left to the interviewee to define through the nature of his or her responses.

In the Bannockburn pilot study, interviewees had been asked to identify what they considered to be of heritage value in the Bannockburn landscape. Although the responses were helpful in understanding some of the values of the landscape, it was subsequently considered that the use of the term ‘heritage’ could have had some influence in the responses. In line with the ‘blank slate’ approach described in Chapter 3, the questions for the Akaroa interviews were designed to be as open as possible, so as to not influence the interviewees’ perceptions as to what ‘landscape’ might comprise.

As with the Bannockburn study, the community-based interviews were preceded by background research on the physical, historic and social context of the area. This information was primarily gleaned from secondary sources, although some recent contextual information was sourced as part of the interview process. This material proved to be essential to understanding comments made by community members during the interviews, particularly when (as frequently occurred) reference was made to the past.

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Because the research aim was to gain an understanding of the range of cultural values in landscapes, rather than a statistically representative sample of values, interviewees were not chosen randomly. As with the Bannockburn study, ‘key informants’ were identified to represent a range of potential viewpoints. The methods of selection differed for Māori and non-Māori. The six Māori interviewees were recommended by the two relevant rūnanga (tribal authorities) for the study area, for their local knowledge and their genealogical connections to the area. The other fourteen interviewees were chosen from people who live in the study area. As with Bannockburn, a ‘snowball’ technique was used whereby interviewees would recommend others. Interviewees were selected to represent a range of possible views, including for example long and short-term residents, retired and employed people, both farmers and urban workers, both conservation and development oriented, and originating from both New Zealand and overseas.

Each interview lasted for between half an hour to one-and-a half hours. The interview format was in three parts. At the beginning, the purpose of the interview was explained, and the interviewee was invited to state how long they had lived in or been associated with the area, and what they did for a living. The interviewee was then asked to describe what was important to them about the landscape of the area. A topographical map of the study area was available so that interviewees could refer to the map when describing places of significance. This meant that the interviewer could be clear about what places they were referring to. When the interviewee ran out of steam they were prompted by the use of phrases such as ‘Is there any other aspect that is important to you?’ or ‘What else is special about it?’. When no more comments were forthcoming, the final stage was to produce a photograph of part of the landscape (Figure 45). The photograph was taken by the author from the western side of the harbour, near Wainui, looking across to the eastern side (see Figure 29 for location). The photograph encompasses part of Akaroa settlement (at left) and extends from the harbour edge to the skyline. With this photograph before them, interviewees were again asked to describe what was important to them about that particular slice of the landscape. This visual prompt usually encouraged further comment from the

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interviewee. Once no further expressions of value were forthcoming, the interview was concluded.

Overall, the interviewees appeared to enjoy talking about ‘their’ landscape. Some began with an apparent expectation that certain responses were going to be ‘correct’, and sought assurance that they were focusing on the ‘right things’. Once they were moved past this point by an explanation such as ‘I just want to see the landscape through your eyes. What is important to you?’ then they would proceed to open up and needed little prompting.

FIGURE 45: The photograph used during the interviews.

The image shows relatively typical view of the Akaroa basin, with its rim of steep hills, dropping to rolling farmland and to the harbour’s edge. Part of Akaroa township is visible at the left hand side of the photograph, and Greens Point, Takapuneke and Red House Bay are in the centre foreground. The peaks on the skyline include Te Piki o te Ake (Purple Peak), Taraterehu (Stony Bay Peak) and Oteauheke (Brasenose). The location that the photograph was taken from is shown in Figure 29.

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As with the Bannockburn interviews, notes were taken as the interview was proceeding. The notes were reviewed immediately after the interview, to clarify any comments recorded. The notes from the interviews are included in Appendix 3. Interviewees were told that their identities would not be revealed, so any information that would lead to easy identification was removed from these notes, but apart from this the notes are as recorded. Where words have been added subsequent to the interview for clarification purposes, they are included in square brackets [ ].

The interviews were usually carried out on a one-to-one basis, but in a few cases a couple chose to be interviewed together. This is identified in the interview transcripts, and is mentioned where it is relevant to the findings.

Analysis of the interview results took place in two stages. Initially, as with the Bannockburn case study, the interview notes were combed through looking for common patterns of response. Stated values that were not shared by other interviewees or that were not supported by other discipline-based assessments of significance were not included in the analysis (these were taken to be individual views rather than shared views). The responses were then classified into general groups or categories of stated value. No attempt was made to assign relative significance or priority to any value or set of values over any other. The outcome of that first analysis is described in section 8.5 below.

The second stage of analysis was to apply the conceptual frameworks of the Cultural Values Model and Dimensional Landscape Model to the interview results. This was done with two intentions: firstly, testing whether the models ‘worked’ in the sense of adequately representing the nature and range of values expressed at Akaroa, and secondly assessing whether the application of the models offered an enriched and integrated understanding of the data. This analysis is reported in sections 8.6 and 8.7.

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8.5 Overview of interview findings

8.5.1 Interviewee associations with the Akaroa landscape

The first interview question sought to establish the nature of the relationship each interviewee had with the landscape, and in particular the length of their association with it. The reason for this question was not to compare long and short associations as data sets, but rather to ensure that the interviews covered the widest possible range of values. The outcomes however provided an opportunity during the analysis phase to compare length of association with the expressions of cultural value, which afforded additional insights into the nature of cultural values in landscapes.

Association was considered to include habitation (living in the study area), genealogical association (ancestors living in the study area prior to the person’s lifetime), and personal interaction (e.g. holidaying in the study area). The interview results showed that the longest habitation was 79 years. Five others had lived in the area all their lives (50-70 years); another cluster had moved into the area between 10 and 20 years ago; and two had lived in the area for 3 years or less. Two had lived in the area as children and had left but had later returned, and one had been brought up in the area and now lives elsewhere. Two had never lived in the area but had genealogical ties through their hapū.

Six of the interviewees were of Māori descent, and referred to themselves as tangata whenua (people of the land). Their whakapapa links to the area can be described in the sense of direct descent from earlier ancestors, and also in terms of the more general genealogical relationship between people and the landscape which forms part of the Māori world-view (discussed previously in Chapters 5 and 7). In terms of direct descent, locally- based genealogies may extend back to the time of the Ngai Tahu conquests or to earlier tribes, depending on intermarriage.

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Four interviewees (two of these were a couple) descended from Europeans who had settled in the area in the 1840s-1860s period. These families had remained in the area since that time, and therefore had had several generations of interaction with the landscape. A further respondent had arrived as a young boy in the 1920s and had lived in the area since. A number of the other interviewees had very close links with the area through their childhood years (and in some cases beyond) by regularly visiting and holidaying, and had moved to the area to live over the past 20 years. Two of these, now in their sixties, had visited the area regularly since childhood.

Two interviewees were from overseas, who, having visited the area, ‘fell in love’ with it, purchased land and moved in. One interviewee came for work reasons, although prior knowledge of the area influenced the decision to move.

As will be seen in the following sections, associations with landscapes lie behind many of the cultural values expressed by interviewees. Additionally, in many cases these associations themselves – where linked to particular aspects of the landscape – are expressed as part of the perceived value of the landscape.

8.5.2 Interview responses

The initial analysis of the interview notes provided a useful opportunity to compare the general nature and range of responses to the Akaroa interviews against the Bannockburn findings.

The physical forms of the landscape were mentioned by all Akaroa interviewees. These extended from the general (the harbour, the surrounding hills, the skyline, native vegetation (‘bush’), historic farming patterns) to the particular (existing, historic, and prehistoric settlements, current and historic walking trails, specific features, sacred places, special food-gathering places, viewpoints). Sensory responses arising from the landscape forms

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included comments on colour, light, visual patterns, pristine-ness, naturalness and beauty. The landscape as a whole was considered variously to be dramatic, enfolding, full of vitality and soul-refreshing.

The historic aspects of the landscape were important to many, and most referred to events embedded in the landscape – historic ones such as its volcanic history, clearance of bush, whaling, and the massacres by Te Rauparaha, and contemporary ones such as the building of Onuku marae.

Many interviewees referred to the practice of walking through the landscape as an integral value. Other important practices included farming, gathering wild food, recreation, community activities and the practice of kaitiakitanga (a complex Māori concept that includes the sense of cultural obligations to care for the environment). Processes such as seasonal changes, weather patterns and the regeneration of bush were important to many.

A sense of place, a feeling of belonging, a special feeling, or a spiritual connection with the landscape was mention by a number of respondents, both Māori and European. Māori interviewees referred to relationships with the area through genealogical links, and to stories that established the cosmological foundations of the landscape. For many longer- established Europeans, family links to the landscape, or to particular parts of the landscape, were also important. Names of places sometimes cemented these relationships. Many stories were told that were linked to the landscape generally or to specific places in the landscape, some of which were named.

Interviewees also frequently volunteered comments about actual or potential landscape changes that they did not like. These comments proved to be revealing of underlying values – for example many comments deplored a particular stand of pine trees on the skyline, suggesting that the apparently random patterns of pasture and bush were valued over formal plantations. Concern about a proposed urban subdivision on land at Takapuneke was underscored by the fact that this site was the location of one of Te Rauparaha’s massacres.

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Overall, the Akaroa responses fell into the same clusters as the Bannockburn responses (see summary Table 8 below) albeit they were about very different landscapes.

TABLE 8: Comparison of insider values in Akaroa and Bannockburn landscapes

Culturally valued aspects of the Akaroa Culturally valued aspects of the landscape Bannockburn landscape (from Table 1 Chapter 4) ¾ physical features (e.g. harbour, skyline, ¾ natural features (e.g. landforms, vegetation, walking trails) vegetation) ¾ sensory responses (e.g. colours, light, ¾ historic features (e.g. buildings, beauty, naturalness) sluicings, routes) ¾ historic features (buildings, tracks, ¾ contemporary features (e.g. vineyards) early farms) ¾ sensory impressions (e.g. quality of ¾ historic events (e.g. volcano, whaling, light, colours and forms of the hills) Te Rauparaha) ¾ spiritual qualities (e.g. embodied ¾ land-based and water-based activities myths) and traditions (e.g. walking, faming, ¾ genealogical connections (e.g. prior food gathering) generations living in the area) ¾ Natural processes (e.g. seasonal ¾ stories, myths (e.g. regarding the gold- changes, weather patterns, regeneration mining days) of bush) ¾ sense of history (e.g. as conveyed by ¾ sense of place (e.g. living in a volcano) features and stories) ¾ feeling of belonging ¾ names (e.g. “Kofuia”, “Bull Spur ¾ genealogical relationships with the land Road”) (both Maori and Pakeha) ¾ activities (e.g. traditional pastoral ¾ spiritual connection (e.g. through Maori farming, walking through the cosmology) landscape) ¾ names of places ¾ physical processes (e.g. seasonal ¾ stories (often linked to names) changes) ¾ sense of community (e.g. as linked to Presbyterian Church) ¾ sense of place (e.g. local distinctiveness)

In both case studies, people valued various physical aspects of the landscape, both natural (e.g. vegetation, hills), human-made (e.g. historic structures and tracks, vineyards) and physical features that had resulted from a combination of natural and physical processes (e.g. sluicings, patterns of native revegetation). As well as talking about the physical

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components of the landscape, interviewees in both case studies frequently referred to sensory or experiential responses, such as the quality of light, colours, the shapes of landforms, and feelings of beauty or naturalness. Current and traditional practices, such as types of farming, food gathering and walking through the landscape were identified by both sets of interviewees. In both communities, people also highlighted particular natural processes (e.g. weather patterns, geological processes, revegetation) that were important to them. History in the landscape was also important in both cases, conveyed in stories, place names and family involvement. People in Akaroa also identified particular historic events whereas Bannockburn people spoke more about past eras (e.g. alluvial mining, dredging). In both case studies, spiritual and mythological aspects of the landscape were spoken of, predominantly by tangata whenua but also to a lesser extent by European informants. Genealogical links between people and the landscape were also a common element. The Akaroa results thus verified the Bannockburn results, and the assumptions that were derived from those results that went into the construction of the models.

The Akaroa interviews, however, revealed an even richer source of statements of cultural values than had the Bannockburn study. While similar range of value types was expressed, they were in far more detail.

Faced with a wealth of information about the significance of the landscape, the Cultural Values Model proved to be extremely useful in providing a conceptual framework with which to sort and analyse the mass of data provided by the interview notes (as recorded in Appendix 3).

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8.6 Application of the Cultural Values Model

The three key components of the Cultural Values Model – forms, practices and relationships - offered quite different perspectives from which to view the data. Conceptually, each component offered a way of analysing the array of values from a particular point of view, while not losing sight of their interconnectedness. This concept is shown visually in the diagrams at the beginning of each section.

In the analysis that follows, reference back to the raw interview data (see Appendix 3) is made by using the letter used to identify each interview (e.g. BDE). The explicit purpose is to show that the values described are shared, and therefore ‘cultural’ (as discussed in Chapter 3).

8.6.1 Forms

Interviewees all referred to particular forms in the landscape that they valued. Reference was generally either specific locations, to linkages, or to aspects of all or part of the landscape as a whole. These are discussed in turn.

Specific locations

Frequent reference was made to certain places in the landscape. The most common references (8-12 people) were to Onawe (BCEHIJKLMNQR), Onuku (also called the Kaik) (CEFHIKLNPQS), Takapuneke (also called Red House Bay) (BEGHIKMNOQS). Almost as many references were made to Greens Point (also called Britomart) (GILMPQS), Akaroa (the town) (DFGMNST), Tuhiraki (also called Mt Bossu) (EFILNPR), and Oteauheke (also

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called Brasenose) (AHLMNOP). Multiple references were also made to Hilltop (GRST), Opukutahi (IJNR), Wainui (CEJ), French Farm (GMP), Dan Rogers (CKP), Purple Peak (Te Piki o Te Ake) (AM), and Taraterehu (Stony Bay Peak) (AP).

Reasons for their significance were varied, and there were often multiple reasons for valuing the same place. For Onawe, a narrow peninsula jutting out into the Akaroa Harbour, most references were to the defensive pa built by tangata whenua in anticipation of Te Rauparaha’s attack, the battle in 1832, and/or the subsequent death or enslavery of many tribal members. But it was also significant because of its visual appearance (BQ), its geological origin (M), a story associated with it (E), the ‘feeling’ of the place (BL) and the kaitiaki role of tangata whenua (IN).

The prominent peak known as Tuhiraki or Bossu was significant as it links to the story of the ancestral figure Rakaihautu, and represents his kō, or digging stick (IL). As a tribal marker, it is used in mihi or whakataukī by tangata whenua to establish their status (EN). It is also a weather-marker (F), a ‘sleeping giant’ (R), and a reminder of the untimely death of an ancestor 150 years ago (P).

Some special places had a subset of important features – for example at Onuku, the church, meeting house, dining hall, old school, old school house, urupa, and a certain tree received special mention by different respondents.

Some important places were not necessarily individually located or named, such as references to urupā (BCH), wāhi tapu (HNJ), battle sites (J) or fishing places (BCEFHIN).

Linkages

Certain roads and tracks were referred to as being important in the landscape. An historic Māori foot trail from Wainui over the hill to Little River was referred to several times (CIJ),

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as was a similar trail over to Birdlings Flat (C). Early European tracks or roads were also valued (LPM).

Certain walking tracks through the landscape were considered to be important (ADL), and even more informants referred to the practice of walking through the landscape (see Section 8.6.3).

Landscape as a whole

The form of the landscape as a whole was valued in many different ways. The beauty or aesthetics of the landscape was important, with some making specific reference to this (FLMRST). Many referred in some way to the vista or view, either of a particular part of the landscape or the landscape as a whole (I GKOPDFLMRST). Many also referred to the spectacular skyline or ridgeline of the Akaroa basin (ABDFLMOPRS). The view of the harbour and surrounding hills from Hilltop (where the main road first allows a glimpse of the basin) received special mention (DGRST). The open space of the basin was valued (FLPS), as was its sense of containment or enclosure (S).

A number also referred to the ambience or ‘feeling’ of the landscape or parts of it (DFLMRS). The quality of light (ADLMO), colours (LST), seasonal changes (D) and the weather patterns (ADFR) were also important sensory elements.

The intermediate hills between the harbour’s edge and the skyline were also mentioned as being important by many (ADFGLOPQRST), frequently in terms of the current absence of development and their fears of future subdivision and urbanisation of the hills. Many enjoyed the mosaic of farms and bush (AGKLPR).

The presence of bush in the landscape was mentioned by most respondents. Some valued the bush as a controlled element of the farming landscape, preferring a more traditional

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farmed landscape where bush was in its place (GPK) whereas others enjoyed the regeneration of bush that is occurring on some properties (ABDF JLMR).

The harbour itself was also valued, for a variety of reasons including its visual quality (AO), ambience (D), shape and colour (S), views from the harbour (M), history (N), underwater landscape (B), fishing (C), role in access (M), settlements around it (L) and its delineation of the separate rohe of the Wairewa and Onuku hapū (I). A number of references were also made to the volcanic origins of the Akaroa basin (BDMRST).

8.6.2 Relationships

A different subset of cultural values was obtained by examining the data from the point of view of relationships with the landscape. Statements which expressed relationships with the landscape fell into four overlapping clusters - relationships arising from long- established interactions with the landscape; Māori cultural relationships; European cultural relationships; and relationships expressed through stories.

Long-established interactions

Many of the values expressed related to interactions or associations with the landscape over time. Almost all interviewees, regardless of their origins or length of residence, referred to feelings of belonging or rootedness in the landscape (AFQRSCEHIJNGOPK). Many spoke of aspects of history in the landscape (ABFLMSGIJPK) or referred to particular stories in the landscape (GHIJNP).

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Family genealogical associations with the landscape were important to many (CEHIJNGOPK), and some told stories about ancestors and their actions in the landscape (GNP).

Interactions with the landscape over time led to a detailed knowledge of the physical landscape (ACFGHPK) and an awareness of how things used to be (CEGHNP). Farming traditions (GNPK) and community traditions (EGHP) in the landscape were highly valued.

Māori cultural relationships

While Māori interviewees shared many values with other community members, there were additional relationship values that were expressed only by Māori respondents. This section discusses only those values expressed by Māori interviewees that are additional to those already summarised elsewhere.

Tangata whenua who were interviewed came from both of the hapū of the study area – those relating to Onuku whose rohe is generally on the east side of the harbour, and those relating to Wairewa whose rohe generally took in the west side of the harbour.

Two of the tangata whenua interviewees had never lived in the study area but nevertheless expressed strong relationships with the landscape. Tribal knowledge and whakapapa meant that they ‘belonged’ and were knowledgeable about the area, even though they had had relatively limited physical interactions. Whakapapa in particular provided direct links to ancestors, to their past actions, to the land and landscape, and to personal and tribal identity.

All tangata whenua interviewees made reference to belonging to the landscape through whakapapa (CEHIJN), both in the sense of genealogy and in the sense of connectedness to the land itself. The latter connections were expressed through ritual statements of belonging, such as the mihi (greeting) used by tangata whenua of Onuku to establish tribal identity, which refers to the peak Tuhiraki and the stream Awa-iti (EN). Ancestral figures were part

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of the landscape, such as in the story of Rakaihautu (I), the names of places (e.g. how Tiake named Otokotoko and Iringa paraoa i Te Rangi Taurewa (I)), and the names of the marae buildings (H). The actions of ancestors in significant events in the landscape were also recalled, such as Te Maiharanui’s trading with whalers and sealers, and the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi at Onuku (N).

Knowledge of the landscape was particularly important, with reference made to tribal knowledge held about sacred places within the landscape (CH) and knowledge about the land, sea and their resources (CEH).

Relationships with the two areas of Māori land at Opukutahi and Onuku were important, particularly as these areas represent the only places in the study area where Māori have had continuity of ownership (EIJN). Onuku marae was important as a core focus of identity, meeting and community (E). Reference was also made in various ways to the kaitiaki role of tangata whenua, expressed through such things as management of the marae, concern about pollution of the harbour, the management of Onawe, and concern about development proposals for Takapuneke (CEHIJN).

European cultural relationships

So many cultural values were shared by Māori and European respondents that it is difficult to tease them apart. The only values that were particularly identifiable solely to European respondents were those relating to early European settlement. Some interviewees descended from French or English settlers who arrived in the 1840s-1860s, and whose families had lived in the area since that time. These interviews conveyed a deep knowledge of the landscape and awareness of continuity and change. Many past events and practices were recalled along with the places they occurred and what could still be seen there today. Some landscape features were named after these families or related in some way to them, and this additional linkage provided a further sense of belonging (GOP). Traditional (i.e.

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twentieth century) farming practices were described with pride (GKP) although it should be noted that some Māori respondents also shared this farming tradition (EHN).

It is notable also that a number of aspects of the landscape that relate strongly to Māori tradition were valued by European respondents. For example, Onuku was mentioned by five European respondents, in relation to such things as community involvement in the recent building of Onuku marae, its visual appearance, and the welcoming quality of the marae (FLPQS).

Stories

When asked what was important about the landscape, many interviewees told stories which expressed much about the relationship between people and their landscape. ‘Stories’ is used here in an inclusive sense, encompassing myths, historic events and the broad continuum between history and myth. The stories were rarely told in their entirety, but were most often referred to in a type of verbal shorthand, assuming the interviewer would already know the details. These are recorded in the interview notes such as “Onawe – special cultural history” (M) or “Tuhiraki – story of Rakaihautu” (I).

Stories that were referred to are listed below in approximate time order: Rakaihautu and the creation of Tuhiraki (L) The story of the six chiefs (J) Ngai Tahu conquest and claiming of land (IJ) Whaling and sealing stories (BC) Stories about Dan Rogers (CKP) Early trading with Europeans by Te Maiharanui and others (BIN) Te Rauparaha’s attack and massacre at Onawe (BCEIL) Te Rauparaha’s attack and massacre at Takapuneke (BKLNO) Migrations at the time of Te Rauparaha (J) Story of John Tikao Love (N) First cattle farm at Red House Bay / Takapuneke (EO)

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The signing of the Treaty of Waitangi in 1840 at Onuku (BNQ) First hoisting of British flag at Greens Point (IQ) Sales, acquisition of Māori land (IN) French ‘no-hopers’ (K) Person perishing in snow-storm in 1854 (P) Te Wherowhero (Māori King) in 1856 (I) Making of roads (L) Life for tangata whenua when left almost landless (N) Flour milling (P) Traditional farming practices (KPN) Cocksfooting (EHN) Village life at Onuku (EH) Dr Bakers school at French Farm (G) Cheese factories (G) Renaming of streets in Akaroa in 1950s to promote its Frenchness (K) The building of the Onuku Marae in the 1980s-90s (EHPS)

Stories could differ quite markedly. For example, three different versions were offered of how the cliff named ‘Dan Rogers’ received its name. One version was that it was named after a robber who rode over the cliff when being pursued (C), another that it was named after a Sydney publican whose arguments with his wife sounded like the waves beating on the cliff (K); and a third that the foam of the breaking waves was like the exposed petticoat of the same publican’s wife when she arose in a bad mood and was seen walking down the stairs (P).

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8.6.3 Practices

The interview data was analysed for a third time in terms of the activities, processes and events that people referred to as being significant in the landscape. These cannot be entirely teased apart from the previous two categories of forms and relationships (particularly the stories), as all are dynamically interlinked, but the analysis does bring in some new understandings of significance.

Activities

A number of activities were referred to during the interviews. Where these were referred to in a way that appeared integral to that person’s concept or experience of landscape, they are included below.

Historic Māori practices referred to included early trading (BILN), naming traditions (J), burial traditions (J), lookouts and signalling (BL), whaling (B), fishing (BCJ), and walking/trading routes (CI). A number of early European settlement practices were considered significant including land clearance, sawmilling, settlement, cheese factories and cocksfooting (BDEFGHMNOPS). Traditional farming activities were important to many (EGHKMNOP).

Currently valued practices included fishing or gathering sea food (CEFHINPR), walking through the landscape (ADFLMOPQ), exploration of the landscape (AFMQRT), personal or family activities in the landscape (e.g. farming, fishing) (CEHN), kaitiakitanga (IN) and nature conservation work (A).

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Processes

Interviewees also referred to processes in the landscape that had particular meaning or significance. Many referred positively to the regeneration of bush (ABDFIJLMRT). Some with a farming background were less positive about wholesale regeneration of bush, seeing this as a result of poor farming practices, but at the same time felt that bush was an important part of the landscape (GKP). Weather patterns and the microclimate were significant (DFMPRT), as were geological processes such as the formation of the Akaroa volcano and its later erosion (ABLMS). Events

Many specific events were described by interviewees. These have already been largely summarised in Section 8.6.2 as ‘stories’ because the telling of the stories represents particular relationships between the teller and the landscape. From another point of view, however, the events that occurred in the landscape are part of its embedded practices. Drawing a sample from histories as well as from interviews, ‘events’ includes happenings that were not necessarily considered significant by community members. The crucial determinant is whether the event is linked in some way to the physical landscape.

A few events of significance in the landscape include: The 17th century Ngai Tahu conquest Arrivals of European whalers and sealers Establishment of flax trading at Takapuneke The Te Rauparaha massacres Establishment of cattle farm Signing of the Treaty of Waitangi Arrival of the French/German settlers British displays of sovereignty Introduction of cocksfoot

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The list could be continued but this is considered unnecessary as it is only intended to be indicative.

8.6.4 Dynamism

The next stage of analysis looks at the interrelationships between valued forms, relationships and practices, which is proposed in the Cultural Values Model as a dynamic view of landscape.

Table 9 summarises the values expressed in relation to some key landscape features. It pans across values expressed in relation to the forms, relationships and practices of the most frequently mentioned places in the landscape.

TABLE 9: Some values associated with key Akaroa landscape features

Location and Form-related values Relationship-related Practice-related values number of values interviewees valued by: Onawe Volcanic plug of Akaroa Kaitiakitanga Battle site (12 ) volcano Wāhi tapu Te Rauparaha massacre 1832 Pa still visible ‘Different’ feeling and associated events Shape of a fighting club Feeling of fear, Māori fish trap apprehension Onuku/ Marae Family originated there Life at Onuku in past The Kaik Settlement Whakapapa links generations (11) School Names of meeting Signing of the Treaty of Māori land house and dining hall Waitangi 1840 Church are ancestors Community helping build ‘Special place’ marae Focal point for hui, meetings Gathering seafood Takapuneke/ Artefacts and terraces Sensitive cultural area Original village of Te Red House Archaeological sites Sacred place Maiharanui Bay Place where village stood Wāhi tapu Māori trading with whalers (11) and massacre occurred Te Rauparaha massacre 1830 and associated stories Link to the Treaty; ‘where it started’

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Location and Form-related values Relationship-related Practice-related values number of values interviewees valued by: First cattle station in Canterbury/Sth Island Brasenose/ Volcanic outcrop Named after Heke (an Oteauheke Striking feature ancestor) (7) ‘Where the mist comes Referrent in mihi down’ Brasenose named after an Oxford college Bossu/ Volcanic peak Hapū reference for mihi Tuhiraki Rakaihautu’s kō Story of Rakaihautu (7) Weather-marker Traditional site ‘Sleeping giant’ Greens Point Britomart memorial Sense of place British jurisdiction exercised (7) 1840 Te Wherowhero came here 1856 Akaroa Bush setting Sense of place, Previously a Māori settlement settlement View from sea belonging Early colonial settlement (7) Charm of narrow streets including French Village form History associated with Akaroa Opukutahi Family connections Collecting seafood (4) Māori land Urupā Family land (European) Hilltop View of Akaroa basin Feeling of discovery, (4) surprise Feeling of relaxation Feeling of home Wainui Settlement sites Born there Early farming activity by (3) Old village site Tangata whenua Māori Gun turrets Family land Gathering seafood French Farm Beautiful valley Family land Historic settlement and (3) Sense of belonging schools Association with French naval farm Farming Dan Rogers Remarkable cliffs Stories of Dan Rogers (3) and his wife Taraterehu/ View Part of walking track Stony Bay Can see Kaikoura Peak mountains from here (2) Purple Peak/ Colours at sunset Te Ake’s topknot (NT Te Piki o Te Chief) Ake (2)

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It can be seen from Table 9 that those parts of the landscape that were most frequently nominated as being valued tended to be important for a cluster of reasons, not just a single reason. Forms, relationships and activities were all significant, and often interrelated. Onawe’s significance, for example, combined the physical remains of the battle fortifications, the attack by Te Rauparaha and its subsequent ramifications, feelings of fear and apprehension, and its status with tangata whenua as a wāhi tapu and a place for which they had kaitiaki responsibilities. A similar dynamism can be seen with the next two most regularly mentioned places – Onuku and Takapuneke, and many of the others in the table. This suggests that values may be maintained more strongly where forms, relationships and practices all have currency and dynamically interact, or that, conversely, where these components are all present, it generates a greater sense of value.

8.6.5 Temporality

The Cultural Values Model suggests that the temporal dimension of the landscape is an important part of its value. The interview results confirm this. As has been already illustrated, many of the references by community members referred to the past, either in terms of the visual effects of the past in the landscape forms, practices, events or relationships arising through personal or genealogical associations, or knowledge of the past.

The findings suggest a refinement to the Cultural Values Model. They indicate that values can be grouped into those that arise from responses to the visual or sensual landscape, and those that have arisen from interactions with a landscape over time. These are nominally called surface values and embedded values. Surface values relate to the physically experienced landscape, whereas embedded values are not necessarily visible and may only be understood in terms of the relationships and practices that are expressed.

Some examples of surface and embedded values are given in Table 10 below in relation to some of the more frequently mentioned forms of the landscape.

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TABLE 10: Some surface and embedded values in the Akaroa landscape Surface values Embedded values Onawe Shape of landform Meaning of name of highest point protruding into the Site of battle harbour Wāhi tapu Plug of volcano Visible pa remains Wairewa and Onuku kaitiaki

Onuku View of marae and ‘Heart’ of hapū church buildings Sense of community Personal histories Whakapapa links Signing of Treaty Tracks Walking through Historic routes (Māori and early European) landscape Sense of discovery Hills and skyline Views Changing over time (e.g. regeneration) Colours Memories of child self Patterns Memories of activities (working, Aesthetics exploring, fishing, playing) Sense of community Whakapapa Spiritual connections Ancestral links Historic farming patterns Personal attachment; feeling of belonging

As the table reveals, surface values primarily relate to the visual appearance of parts or all of the landscape – striking forms on the skyline, the blue of the sea, the mosaic of bush and pasture. Some are more sensory, such as the enjoyment of walking through the landscape. Variations in the weather and seasons, and the visual effects of these changes, are also part of the sensory enjoyment of the landscape.

While most interviewees referred to surface values, three made no reference to them whatsoever – all their comments referred to embedded values (EHN). These particular respondents were all tangata whenua. In contrast, one interview (a couple, who had lived in the area only a year) referred only to surface values (T). Most interviewees referred to both surface and embedded values.

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Where both sorts of values were expressed by interviewees, far more references were made to embedded values than surface values. Additionally, surface values expressed were relatively short and repetitive (e.g. references to colours, the beauty of the skyline) whereas comments on embedded values were varied and lengthy. This does not necessarily mean that embedded values were more important; it could be that interviewees were more comfortable or more able to tell stories than to express concepts of beauty.

Further analysis of the interview data revealed that most of the embedded values were associated with the establishment of landscape forms, practices or relationships during certain key periods of the past. These key periods were the pre-European period (prior to c1800); the first contact period when whalers and sealers were first interacting and trading with Māori (including the Te Rauparaha raids of 1830 and 1832); the start of organised European settlement (1840s-60s); the massive clearances of the land of forest during the 1860s-1900 to create farmland; and the relatively settled farming era of around 1900 to 1990. Table 11 shows schematically how often these key periods were referred to be interviewees.

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TABLE 11: Key eras giving rise to embedded values

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Several things are apparent from this table. Firstly, the periods or events which provide the most significance to the landscape are the pre-European Māori period and Te Rauparaha’s raids on Takapuneke and Onawe. The first contact period, European settlement of the 1850s and 60s, and the classic farming era of the twentieth century are also important aspects of the landscape. Interestingly, the French settlement of the 1840s, which is a major tourist ‘selling-point’ for the area, did not feature strongly in people’s appreciation of the landscape, and was mentioned by only three people (GSM). This could be because ‘frenchness’ is associated with Akaroa township rather than the landscape at large.

Embedded meaning and significance was not limited to events that were part of interviewee’s personal history. The table reveals that a number of European interviewees expressed values relating to Māori cultural components of landscape. For example, although Māori informants understandably referred to catastrophic events such as the Te Rauparaha raids (CEHIJN), many European informants also referred to these as giving special meaning to the landscape (GOPAQBSLM). On the other hand, most Māori respondents did not refer to the period between 1840 and 1900, perhaps understandably given the massive reduction in local population and the physical dislocations that occurred immediately prior to and within this period for Māori.

A long association with the landscape did not appear to be a necessary precondition of embedded values. In Table 12, the array in Table 11 is overlain a series of bars that indicate the length of interviewee association with the landscape. As with Table 11, this is not drawn to scale and is only drawn for the purposes of a schematic comparison. In the table, ‘length of association’ includes personal, family and genealogical associations with the landscape.

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TABLE 12: Length of association compared to key eras

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This comparison indicates that the embedded values of the landscape can be important to relative newcomers to an area, even though they have no direct or family experience of them. It is not suggested that the nature and depth of newcomers’ values are equivalent to those who have a long-term or genealogical relationship with the area; merely that the awareness of embedded values does create significance even for relative newcomers.

As Table 11 indicates, many landscape values relate to periods when forms, relationships or practices were established that are still culturally relevant today, although possibly for different reasons that when they first occurred. An example is the European settlement of the area which resulted in the valued present-day mosaic of pasture and forest. At the time the forest was cleared, the intention was to establish farms rather than create an aesthetic landscape, yet that is the result today. Even horrific events, such as the Te Rauparaha massacres, can give rise to a residue of value or significance.

Embedded values do not just relate to periods that changed the landscape, but also to continuity between past and present. Interviewees valued the continuity of cultural relationships in the landscape, expressed through stories, names, memories and cultural meanings. Continuity of family connections to the area was important to both Māori and European respondents. The continuity of certain practices and traditions was also spoken of, such as walking through the landscape, collecting seafood, farming the land, and kaitiakitanga. Continuity of some aspects of the landscape, therefore, may generate value that arise from a sense of local tradition.

8.6.6 Concerns about change

Most interviewees volunteered concern about past, present or future changes to the landscape. The most common concern was the extent of current and proposed subdivisions, development of rural land into ‘lifestyle’ sections, and the expansion of urban settlements into the rural hinterland (BCDEGKLMOPQS). Many also were concerned at a large

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plantation of pine trees near the skyline (visible in the interview photograph (Figure 45) (ABFGKOR). Other concerns about change included the historic clearance of bush for farming (AB), the growth of gorse (BG), diminished water quality in the harbour (CEJ), decline in availability of seafood (CEHM), the decline of conventional farming (GKP), the sewerage plant at Takapuneke (IMO), the loss of Māori land (JN), the loss of wildlife (K), the destruction of tapu places (N), and the loss of Māori names from the landscape (N).

All of the concerns have a direct concordance with other statements about what is considered significant in the landscape. For example, concerns about the expansion of settlements and rural subdivision related to, amongst other things, how this would affect the ‘natural’ look of the hills. The concern about the sewerage plant at Takapuneke is a cultural concern arising from a sense of degradation from sewerage waste being on or close to a sacred place. Expressions of concern can thus help to reveal or reinforce what is valued about the landscape.

8.6.7 Summary of values expressed by interviewees

The Cultural Values Model provided a structured way of analysing the interview data to reveal the range of values expressed relating to the Akaroa landscape. The triple scrutiny of the interviews from the point of view of forms, practices and relationships revealed different facets of landscape values which might not have been revealed through a single- focus analysis.

The results firstly suggest that people’s understanding of ‘landscape’ is not limited to either their own property or to places that are formally protected. All respondents, when asked to describe aspects of that landscape that they valued, referred to a variety of locations, almost all of which were in the ownership of other people. ‘Landscape’ and its associated values do not appear to be limited by concepts of private property rights.

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The analysis in terms of forms showed that people value specific places, networks and more extensive spaces such as the skyline, bush and harbour. The same form may attract multiple values, including for example visual appearance, stories, geological origins, feelings and spirituality. The findings suggest that there may be a greater tendency to attribute surface values to the broader landscape, and embedded values to localised places and networks, but this would require further research.

While some aspects of relationships were particular to individuals, a number of aspects were shared. A sense of belonging to the landscape was almost universally expressed. Genealogical connections with the area or with specific places in the landscape were very important to both Māori and European respondents. Māori respondents, in addition, expressed particular values arising from a Māori cultural world-view and from the whakapapa that bound the hapū to the area. Some European respondents with long family histories in the area also shared particular values arising from their length of association with the area. Shared stories also link people to the landscape.

Respondents frequently referred to practices when describing the landscape’s significance to them. Some practices referred to no longer occur (e.g. whaling, sawmilling), some are recent (e.g. nature conservation work) but some provide continuity between past and present, such as fishing, farming and kaitiakitanga. Processes were referred to less often, and the main comment was in relation to the regeneration of native vegetation on the hills. A variety of past events gave shared significant to the landscape.

The analysis confirms the preliminary findings of the Bannockburn study: that forms, relationships and activities are all important aspects of what is valued about landscapes. These aspects may be expressed differently – for example, while F and P both valued walking through the landscape, for F it is linked to smells, sounds and sights; and for P it provides associations with his ancestors.

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Some outcomes of the interviews were not easily categorised under one or another of the three components – for example, stories express something of the relationships between the person and place, but also could be categorised as events or practices. However, being able to analyse cultural values through each of the three components provided a broader understanding of the nature of values in the landscape than would be realised through simply focusing on one component such as the physical landscape.

The findings also confirm the dynamism of form, relationship and activity in the landscape. While each of these aspects can be considered separately, the places most often mentioned as being of value in the landscape were where more than one of these aspects were significant. This suggests that values may be cross-generative; for example, practices may reinforce the value of forms, generating stronger relationships. Further research into this would be valuable, particularly in relation to the development of appropriate management strategies for valued places.

The interviews made it clear that the temporal aspects of landscape are of great import in the creation of values. While some values relate to sensory responses to present forms, many more responses were generated by an awareness of time in the landscape. To describe this distinction, the terms ‘surface values’ and ‘embedded values’ were proposed.

While many of the expressed values related to sensory responses to the landscape, many more were generated by an awareness of time in the landscape. Embedded values from past eras and associations give meanings and associations even for relative newcomers to the area. Continuity of forms, practices and relationships are also important in maintaining landscape values.

In short, embedded values are a significant aspect of the totality of cultural values of the landscape. The totality of cultural values of the Akaroa landscape would not be revealed by a purely sensory or aesthetic approach; a comprehensive understanding requires knowledge of the embedded values as well.

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In distinguishing between surface and embedded values, the findings suggest a further refinement of the Cultural Values Model. These can be shown conceptually through an addition to the model diagram developed in Chapter 6. Figure 46 shows this refinement, contrasting the ‘surface values’ (generated by a purely visual or sensory response to the physical landscape) with the embedded values (those arising from an awareness of the past).

The refinement to the model can be used to represent the different types of cultural value that arise from a response to the physical landscape, and those that arise from embedded values. This is indicated with an eye in Figure 46 below, showing these different ways in which landscape can be perceived.

FIGURE 46: Using the Cultural Values Model to portray surface and embedded values

The eye on the left represents the view of the surface landscape, and the one on the right represents the view of the embedded landscape. As discussed in the text, most respondents expressed both surface and embedded values; one respondent expressed only surface values, and three expressed only embedded values.

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Overall, the Cultural Values Model has offered a structured way to analyse the interview material, revealing a wide range of values and enabling them to be considered in an ordered way. The model has also offered insights into the connectedness between valued aspects of the landscape. It reveals that both surface values and embedded values are important to the community, and that an appreciation of both is crucial to a holistic approach to understanding the landscape. The term composite landscape is proffered to encapsulate the landscape as a whole as described by the Cultural Values Model – that is, including consideration of the valued forms, practices and relationships of both the surface and embedded landscape.

Community views of landscape are only one source of information about its significance. As discussed in Chapters 2 and 5, decision-makers are typically informed about landscape values through ‘expert’ disciplinary studies rather than community consultation. The next section revisits the disciplinary studies carried out in the Akaroa area, and uses the Cultural Values Model to compare their relative contribution to understanding landscape values in light of the above findings.

8.6.8 Values expressed in disciplinary studies

The Cultural Values Model offers a way to consider the comparative contributions made by disciplinary studies to understanding the landscape values as a whole. In terms of the model’s key components, the landscape assessments that have been undertaken of the Akaroa area all focus solely or primarily on landscape forms. Glasson (1991) and Boffa- Miskell (2000) primarily consider the ‘naturalness’ of landscape forms and visual quality, judging this using expert-based assessment methods. The Lucas assessment (2001) uses a land systems approach and largely focuses on the natural landscape components. Some reference was made to cultural values but there was limited incorporation of these into the conclusions. The ecological assessment (Wilson) is similarly focused on identifying and cataloguing the spatial distribution of natural landscape forms (vegetation).

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The Ngai Tahu Resource Management Strategy (Tau et al. 1990) describes in general terms the relationship of the tribe to the environment. Key values included genealogical relationships, traditional resource uses, and sacred sites. In terms of the Cultural Values Model, the emphasis here is on relationships and practices with the embedded landscape.

Place names convey information about forms, practices and relationships. Publications by Lowndes (2002) and Andersen (1976) provide information on the meaning of Akaroa place-names and were used to help develop the landscape context (Section 8.2). These sources show that names have many origins, arising for example from historic, family or mythical figures (e.g. Te Piki o Te Ake), to prior practices or events (e.g. Te Whatamango), or describing forms in the landscape (e.g. Saddle Hill). Names can be powerful cultural codes, linking past meanings to the present landscape. In terms of the Cultural Values Model, names are a direct link between the embedded landscape and the surface landscape.

Historical accounts, such as those used in Section 8.2, also provide information about the embedded landscape. Information derived from histories of the Akaroa area (e.g. Evison 1993; Ogilvie 1990; Tremewan 1990), for example, assists in understanding the nature of activities and events which occurred in the landscape and, to some extent, how these have helped to form the contemporary landscape. In terms of the Cultural Values Model, the historical accounts primarily provide information about past practices. They may enlighten as to the reasons for current physical features and community relationships, but they do not address contemporary cultural values (except insofar as choosing which histories to convey is itself a form of value). The archaeological data also informs about the embedded landscape, providing information on past landscape forms.

The relative contributions of these disciplinary studies can be conveyed through the revised Cultural Values Model, as in Figure 47.

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FIGURE 47: The contribution of disciplinary studies to an understanding of the total values of the landscape

The application of the Cultural Values Model makes it clear that certain aspects of Akaroa’s landscape values are addressed by the disciplinary studies, but other aspects have not been well covered. The landscape and ecological studies largely address the forms of the surface landscape, focusing predominantly on ‘natural’ forms. No studies have comprehensively considered the values of culturally-generated forms. Valued relationships and practices associated with the surface landscape have not been specifically covered.

Some aspects of the embedded landscape are covered. Histories of the area recount important practices and events, and the Ngai Tahu report delineates practices, relationships and some forms important to Māori. Relationships and forms that are significant to non- Māori in the embedded landscape are not covered. Publications on the meanings of place- names assist in understanding some of the continuities in the landscape, although many of the names referred to are no longer in current use.

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The Cultural Values Model thus offers a way to appreciate the relative contribution of different disciplines to an overall understanding of the Akaroa landscape values. It exemplifies how landscape information can be cleaved along disciplinary lines, between natural and cultural features, and between cultural understandings. It also helps to identify areas which have not been addressed by disciplinary studies – these include both contemporary and embedded practices and relationships (particularly of non-Māori). Depending on the adequacy of the disciplinary studies – and, as noted earlier, some of these studies are very general or limited by circumstance - the model could also assist in identifying where more research may be required.

Overall, the Cultural Values Model offers a number of different facets through which to examine a single set of data. Through application of the model, a previously disorganised array of expressed values can be analysed to reveal the forms, relationships and practices that are considered to be important to a community and to disciplines. It provides a way to consider values in a structured way and to perceive the dynamic interactions between values and over time, providing the basis for an integrated and holistic understanding. It enables existing information from different disciplines to be compared for its contribution to an understanding of the landscape as a whole, and provides a framework for identifying further studies that may be required to consider the values of the composite landscape.

To make this value-based information more useful for landscape management decision- making, however, a further step must be taken to present it spatially, as far as this is practicable. Non-spatial and embedded values are more likely to be ignored unless they can be linked to the relevant physical forms, or presented in a way which enables an understanding of how they contribute meaning to the landscape. The next section tests the usefulness of the Dimensional Landscape Model in this respect.

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8.7 Application of the Dimensional Landscape Model

The Akaroa interviews indicate that when people speak of valued aspects of the landscape, their comments can be clustered into spatial qualities (qualities of the landscape generally), network qualities (qualities involving movement or connections) and nodal qualities (values of specific locations within the landscape). The Dimensional Landscape Model aligns with these findings, offering a way to consider the composite landscape in terms of its key nodes, networks and spaces.

‘Nodes’ is used to describe parts of the landscape that have concentrated value, whether arising from sensory or embedded values. ‘Networks’ refers to physical and non-physical linkages, which may result from both sensory and embedded values. The term ‘spatial’ is used where valued sensory or embedded aspects of the landscape are extensive or are not centred on a particular node or network.

In applying the Dimensional Landscape Model to the Akaroa landscape, the embedded landscape will be considered first, and how this can be conceptualised as a series of layers, each of which represents a web of forms, relationships and practices. The valued dimensions of the surface landscape will then be discussed, followed by a consideration of the valued nodes, networks and spaces of the composite landscape.

Application of the Dimensional Landscape Model has been limited, for the purposes of this work, to the cultural values as expressed by interviewees, although information from the disciplinary studies referred to earlier in this chapter is used, where relevant, to illustrate these values further. Because of these limitations, the figures do not purport to be a comprehensive representation of the culturally significant aspects of the Akaroa landscape.

It should also be noted that, in keeping with the expressed aim of this study to focus on the ‘nature and range’ of values rather than determine relative significance of values, the choice of data to use in the diagrams has been guided primarily by a desire to explore whether the

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model could adequately convey the range of values expressed. The need to reflect ‘cultural’ (i.e. shared) values meant that those aspects of landscape that were identified by multiple respondents were selected for use in the models. Apart from this, there was no value relativity imposed (or at least, not any that was consciously applied) apart from the frequency of identification of any particular phenomena.

8.7.1 Layers and webs of the embedded landscape

The analysis using the Cultural Values Model, suggested that many of the time-deep values in the landscape arose from key ‘layers’ over time. These were as follows: • Pre-European Māori • Early European contact period • Te Rauparaha raids 1830s • First formal European settlement 1840 • Start of organised English settlement 1850s-60s • Extensive land clearance and establishment of farming 1860s-1900 • Classic farming era 1900-1990 (See Table 11)

Some of the key events which gave particular significance to parts of the landscape included the Te Rauparaha raids of 1830 and 1832 at Takapuneke and Onawe, the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi at Onuku in 1840, and the exercise of British sovereignty at Greens Point later that same year.

The Dimensional Landscape Model suggests that these layers of the embedded landscape can be conceived of as a series of ‘webs’, each of which represents the landscape as it existed at the time. The layers and webs of course simplify what was likely to have been a gradually changing landscape - time does not ‘freeze’, and nor is it possible to give an accurate snapshot of conditions at any particular era. There were, however, certain periods

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of relative stability and other periods of relatively major change, each of which has left its traces in the composite landscape of today. Understanding the significant layers and webs assists in comprehending how and why the embedded landscape is valued today.

Given that the Akaroa case study was undertaken to test the models rather than definitively analyse the landscape, it was considered unnecessary to draw a ‘web’ for each of the layers identified above. Accordingly, only two webs have been drawn – one representing aspects of the landscape in pre-European times, and the other showing aspects of the landscape during the early period of European interaction and settlement. These webs have only been drawn schematically, to show the potential of the concept. In other circumstances, far more detailed and sophisticated webs could be developed.

Pre-European Māori web

Māori life prior to the arrival of Europeans was by no means static, but the landscape as a whole reflected a way of life that was to change dramatically from the early 1800s. Figure 48 offers a conceptual view of the type of ‘web’ which may have existed in pre-European times. The web attempts to bring together some of the key forms, relationships and practices of the time through incorporating names, physical features, archaeological information, oral history and cultural world-views.

Drawn together, the web shows a landscape of scattered permanent or temporary settlements along the coast, connected by the harbour and by land routes. Nodes include village sites and named places which attest to their past significance and, in some cases, the practices that occurred there. Routes on land and water were used for resource gathering, trade and tribal movement. Names and oral histories attest to the use of certain places for signalling networks. Other invisible networks of genealogy and myth link people to the landscape and to places and people beyond. At a spatial level, the forested hills are food sources and well as the embodiment of Papatūānuku.

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FIGURE 48: Some facets of the landscape web prior to European settlement

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Early nineteenth century web

The period from the early 1820s to the early 1840s saw major changes to the practices and relationships within the landscape although little in the way of widespread physical change. This came later with large-scale forest clearance and extensive settlement. The web shown in Figure 49 incorporates the first two post-European layers – the first contact period with sealers and whalers (from approximately the 1820s), which overlapped with the first stage of European settlement in the early 1840s. The middle part of this period saw the two attacks by Te Rauparaha of 1830 and 1832, and the Treaty of Waitangi was signed at Onuku in 1840. In all, this was a period of marked social and cultural change that established ongoing meaning and significance to the landscape of today.

The changes of the early nineteenth century did not replace the pre-European web, but overlaid it. Some aspects of the earlier web (Figure 48) would have been changed, but many of the forms, relationships and practices of the earlier era would have continued into this time.

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FIGURE 49: Some facets of the 1820s-1840s web

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The web shows a landscape that is under active change. Nodes of settlement are developing on the harbour coastline, interspersed with existing Māori settlements. The harbour is the main route between settlements and for trading purposes. Roads are starting to be formed. European relationships with the landscape are relatively undeveloped – relationships with ‘home’ countries are likely to still be stronger. A number of events over this period at Takapuneke, Greens Point, Onuku and Onawe render these nodes particularly significant. The spatial qualities of the area have not changed a great deal as forest clearance has only just begun. The web highlights some of the dynamism of the landscape, and some of the interactions which continue to generate significance in the landscape today.

Discussion

Modelling the layers and webs of the Akaroa landscape contributes further to an understanding of the landscape as a whole. Firstly, it provides a way of modelling the key aspects of landscape from a particular era. Some of these key aspects may be physical features (e.g. village sites), others may be activities or events associated with particular features or places (e.g. signalling systems), and others again may be more generalised relationships with the landscape as a whole (e.g. genealogy networks). The model has enough flexibility to incorporate and link all of these aspects.

It also offers a way of understanding the interrelationships between aspects of the Akaroa landscape during key eras. Each web indicates the spread of forms, relationships and practices (including events) across the landscape, insofar as they are considered significant today. It also provides a visual understanding of the physical interconnections between places, actions and relationships during these periods.

The webs also draw together and link contributions from a variety of different sources. Different parts of the Akaroa web are informed by different disciplines or community members – for example, in Figure 48, stories of Rakaihautu are part of the oral tradition of tangata whenua; archaeological sites are as identified by the NZ Archaeological

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Association; and signalling systems were referred to by community members and further informed by the meanings of place names. Presenting these diverse forms of information as a web offers a way of integrating such data as a linked whole.

Furthermore, the webs assist in understanding the relative significance of parts of the landscape. They enable a feature or attribute to be considered in the context of the other parts of the same web. For example, the Māori trail over to Wairewa has value in its own right, but has greater significance when considered in terms of the forested landscape it lay within; its role in connecting the genealogically linked people of Akaroa basin and the Wairewa area; and also its role in access to food and other resources of these areas. As another example, Te Maiharanui’s trading station at Takapuneke was integrally linked with the presence of sealers and whalers and the routes of early nineteenth century trading ships. In other words, the webs provide an understanding of relational significance.

Overlaying webs reveals how the cultural values relating to a single place can arise from a variety of eras. Takapuneke, for example, is accorded significance for many reasons over time including as a village site in the pre-European era, as Te Maiharanui’s trading station in the 1820s, as the site of the 1830 massacre and the role of Captain Stewart in that event, as the location of the first cattle station with its associated buildings and activities, and as a wāhi tapu today. A further example is Onuku, which has significance as a Māori settlement from the pre-European period through to the present. This is heightened by the fact that Onuku is one of only four places the Treaty of Waitangi was signed in the South Island. Layering of webs thus provides an understanding of compounded significance.

As discussed above, the interview results showed that both change and continuity are significant drivers of cultural value. Layers and webs are useful in highlighting changes to forms, relationships and activities over time. They also provide a means of considering continuity. Continuity can be established through considering the links that exist between the layer of origin through to the present. The name ‘French Farm’, for example, provides continuity to the early use of the valley as a farm by the French navy. An existing building

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at the site, which relates to this era, also provides a visual link to the past. The name and the building create community awareness of the past use of the site, and may relate to the degree of community value. Using layers and webs to consider continuity can offer insights into how the landscape could be managed so as to retain meaning and significance. They provide a structured way to consider the origins of valued aspects of the landscape, how these aspects have maintained relative stability over time, and how these contribute to landscape values today.

8.7.2 The surface landscape

Values relating to the surface landscape that were expressed by interviewees predominantly related to spatial qualities. As noted previously, sensory values were expressed in relation to only a few specific nodes (e.g. Onawe and Mt Bossu/Tuhiraki), and were more commonly expressed in relation to aspects of the landscape as a whole (e.g. beauty of the skyline).

The disciplinary studies of landscape significance also focused predominantly on spatial qualities – views, forms, colours, naturalness etc – and mapped homogenous areas where these qualities were believed to exist. The ecological study took a similar approach, mapping areas within the landscape or particular value.

Figure 50 attempts to capture a range of the key values expressed by community members in relation to the surface landscape. Some values expressed in the disciplinary studies are also included but only in an indicative way. Just a few examples are used, and these are only mapped indicatively.

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FIGURE 50: Some key values expressed relating to the surface landscape

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8.7.3 Dimensions of the composite landscape

The composite landscape can be considered as the superimposed layers of past and present landscapes, experienced and valued as simultaneously a sensory landscape and as an embedded landscape. In this section, the structure of the composite landscape will be explored.

It should be noted that the diagrams produced here are highly simplified, and predominantly sourced in community values. The analysis could have been further enriched by drawing in more information from disciplinary studies, but a conscious decision was made to avoid too much detail. For the purpose of testing the models, clear and concise diagrams were needed.

Spaces

Interviewees referred to a variety of important spatial qualities of the landscape. These included visual (e.g. views), experiential (e.g. exploring), activity-based (e.g. gathering seafood), spiritual (e.g. sacred areas) and embedded (e.g. historic farm patterns). Disciplinary studies also identified spatial values – for example, the landscape studies identified areas of natural character and aesthetic quality, the ecological assessment offered a broad picture of the ecology of the area as well as more detailed snapshots of protected areas, and the Ngai Tahu report referred in a generalised sense to certain valued areas or activities.

Examples of some of these spatial values are shown in Figure 51.

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FIGURE 51: Some key spatial values (both surface and embedded values) of the composite landscape

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As Figure 51 shows, spatial values may relate to visible characteristics such as the volcanic skyline or the mosaic of farms and bush, to practices such as fishing and exploring, and to embedded meanings such as sacredness or a sense of history that arise from particular relationships. On its own, this diagram does little to add to a spatial understanding of landscape value in that it has not spatially ‘mapped’ these aspects in any detail. Its strength is to carry forward expressed values in a visible form, to cross-reference to more detailed sources, and to ensure that all values are addressed in decision-making rather than a select few.

Networks

A variety of networks, both visible and non-visible, past and present, were mentioned by interviewees as being important in the landscape. Some networks have visible form (e.g. roads), and others are in the intangible form of relationships between places (e.g. signalling systems) or between people and place (e.g. genealogy), and others are networks of activity (e.g. trade routes). Some networks that were identified were important for both historic (e.g. early roads) and contemporary reasons (e.g. walking tracks).

Some of the key networks mentioned in interviews are shown in Figure 52 below.

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FIGURE 52: Some key networks (both surface and embedded values) of the composite landscape

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Nodes

Nodes are significant for a variety of reasons, including both surface and embedded values. For the purposes of this exercise, key nodes of cultural value in the landscape have been taken to be those which were most frequently mentioned as significant by interviewees. These nodes are identified in Figure 53. The largest circles represent those places that were most frequently mentioned (in 8-12 interviews). Medium circles are around nodes mentioned in 4-7 interviews. The smallest circles identify places important to 2-3 interviewees. Places that are named but not circled were identified as significant by one person.

The key nodes are associated with multiple cultural values. For example, Tuhiraki/Bossu is a visually remarkable volcanic feature, a weather-marker, an embodied myth, a referent for tribal identity, and a link to earlier tribes. Onawe is visually prominent in the harbour, is reputedly the ‘plug’ of the Akaroa volcano, shows the forms of the fortifications built to defend against Te Rauparaha, is the site of the 1832 massacre, and is a wāhi tapu. Dan Rogers is significant both because of the visual appearance of the dramatic cliffs and because of the stories associated with the name. Many of the key nodes were also important for all three landscape components – forms, relationships and practices (see Table 9).

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FIGURE 53: Key nodes in the Akaroa landscape (circled).

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Composite values

In synthesis, the values of the dimensions of the landscape (nodes, networks, spaces) can be understood in terms of the forms, relationships and practices associated with them. As a whole, these form the composite values of the landscape. Figure 54 provides an indication of some of the composite values of the Akaroa landscape. These are shown in relation to a compiled photograph of the eastern side of the harbour. This area was chosen because many of the comments from interviewees related to this area.

Figure 54 conveys an impression of the complexity and interrelationships of some of the values in the landscape. It should be stressed that this is not intended in any way to convey the cultural significance of the area as a whole. As discussed in the methodology section, the research undertaken in this case study was intentionally instrumental, rather than seeking to discover the intrinsic values of the area. Figure 54, as all figures in this section, is merely indicative of the concepts posited in the research rather than a graphical representation of the values-as-a-whole.

In highlighting some of the values of frequently-identified nodes, networks and spaces, Figure 54 reinforces that: (a) Each valued node, network or space may have physical or non-physical characteristics, or a combination of these (e.g. genealogical networks are located in the landscape but have no physical counterpart). (b) The values of each node, network or space may arise solely from a form, practice or relationship, or from a combination of these. (c) Valued forms, practices and relationships may be in dynamic interaction (e.g. the marae at Onuku is part of a dynamic of practices and relationships).

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8.7.4 Findings from the dimensional analysis

The dimensional diagrams of valued spaces, networks and nodes in the Akaroa landscape integrate values arising from both the sensory and embedded landscapes. By consolidating data from the prior analysis, they offer a structured way to consider the range of expressed values in relation to each other and in relation to the physical environment. Having previously analysed the cultural values in the Akaroa landscape in terms of forms, practices and relationships, and having investigated some of the key layers and webs of the embedded landscape, the spatial diagrams allow for a visual synthesis of this data. They provide a conceptual basis to draw together the various facets of the composite landscape and to display them visually in a way that provides for the fact that not all values are directly related to physical forms.

The spatial diagram (Figure 51) shows a sample of the variety of values that were expressed in relation to the area as a whole. As with all models, it provides a framework rather than all of the data needed to make decisions. As a framework, though, it enables consideration of what further information might be needed to become more fully informed about valued aspects of the landscape, were such a study to be fully carried out. For example, ‘historic farm patterns’ may require further historical research and more detailed mapping to determine their location and extent. Other aspects such as the visual values of the skyline, or important ecological areas, may already be well covered in existing discipline-based assessments.

The networks shown in Figure 52 reflect the variety of values relating to connections and linkages. These ranged from personal and cultural links (genealogies, whakapapa, stories) to physical forms (tracks, roads), information links (signalling systems) and movement (walking, boating). Some networks may be the link between nodes (e.g. trade routes) whereas other provide a means to experience spatial values (e.g. walking trails), and others again are valued in their own right (e.g. genealogies). Relationships networks have

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temporal as well as spatial significance – by spanning time they provide direct linkages between people and communities to the past.

The community interviews revealed a surprising repetition of a small number of key nodes in the landscape (Figure 53). There was clearly a high degree of congruence of places which were highly important to interviewees, even though the reasons given for their significance may have differed. A common feature of most of the nodes on the skyline was their visual prominence, but many of these were also valued for other reasons as well. Less visually prominent nodes were more likely to be valued for their embedded values.

A synthesis of the landscape values can be achieved by utilising the concepts of both the Dimensional Landscape Model and the Cultural Landscape Model, as shown in Figure 54. By considering the landscape in this way, it can help inform how values are ‘situated’ within the landscape, and how the values of any given component may dynamically interact with other values.

The analysis of the Akaroa landscape in terms of key nodes, networks and spaces generated a number of insights as to the usefulness of the Dimensional Landscape Model.

Firstly, identifying valued spaces, networks and nodes fitted easily with the way in which community members described their landscape. When asked what was important to them about the landscape, community members most frequently described specific places, movement or linkages, and qualities of the area as a whole. Analysis of this information in terms of spaces, networks and nodes provided a simple way to coalesce this mass of detail into a manageable form.

Secondly, the dimensional diagrams provide a means of integrating the cultural values in the landscape as a whole. The Cultural Values Model suggests that forms, relationships and practices are all key components of landscape value, and that these values are created by both sensory and embedded influences. Nodes, networks and spaces can represent both

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surface and embedded values, and webs and layers help to give a dimensioned understanding of how change and continuity contribute to the generation of cultural significance.

The dimensional diagrams also offer a way to draw information from a range of sources into a structured framework. The existing landscape-related assessments of the Akaroa area, for example, consider the area separately as a visual landscape, an ecological landscape, a landscape of histories, a landscape of archaeological sites, and a landscape of Māori cultural values. Nodes, networks and spaces offer a means of considering the totality of these values by approaching the landscape as a dimensioned structure around which information and values coalesce, rather than starting initially from the point of view of disciplinary interests.

The Dimensional Landscape Model has the potential to be applied at a variety of scales. Although the Akaroa landscape is considered and presented as a whole, it would be equally possible to analyse a portion of the landscape in a similar way. For example, a historic farm could be presented as a web, with the node being the farmhouse, a spatial pattern of fields and orchards, and networks both within the farm and linking the farm to, say, a cheese factory, other farms and other settlements.

Finally, the model allows multiple values to be accounted for. By focusing on the important dimensions of the landscape, the model is open to any particular dimension having many values. The model does not presuppose that certain values may be more important than others. It can therefore act as a vehicle for identifying multiple or conflicting values, which is a necessary precondition of achieving appropriate management.

A possible weakness of the model is that it does not offer a way to graphically map the values of the landscape in an ‘exact’ way. Given that the purpose of the methodology was to develop conceptual models rather than mapping tools, this is not surprising, but in some senses it would have been satisfying to have been able to generate an elegant representation

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of the values of the landscape as a whole, that could then be immediately useful in informing planning or development decisions. As it is, the best the model can offer is a conceptual tool that at this stage produces little more than a rough visual synthesis. This will be discussed further in Chapter 9.

8.8 Conclusions

The Akaroa case study had two key purposes in the research process. One was to verify the results of the Bannockburn case study, to see whether a similar range and nature of values was expressed by the ‘insider’ community. The second purpose was to generate a source of data with which to assess the relevance and usefulness of the Cultural Values Model and Dimensional Landscape Model.

The Akaroa interviews produced a similar array of value types as the Bannockburn pilot study, but with far greater detail and complexity, confirming the validity of the findings. While the Akaroa interview data initially appeared to be overwhelming, application of the models enabled it to be analysed in an orderly way from a number of different perspectives. This resulted in insights into the cultural values of the Akaroa landscape that had not necessarily been captured by existing disciplinary studies.

The fact that the analysis did not provide a way to capture the fine detail of cultural values could be seen as a weakness. The disciplinary studies, for example, contained a wealth of information that contributes to an understanding of the landscape, as did the community interviews. However the intention of the analysis was not to collect and compound all data about the landscape, but to provide a clear framework from which to begin to understand multivalence, enabling the value composition of the landscape to be considered in a structured way.

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A strength of the models is that they do not presuppose what may be culturally valued. Rather than beginning from the point of view of a particular discipline or a particular culture, or the requirements of a particular piece of legislation, the models start with no prior assumptions about the nature of value. Instead, they offer a structure within which to build up a picture of cultural value, using a variety of sources of information.

The models also provide a structured way to consider whether all potential types of value have been adequately considered. By identifying the sorts of values that may potentially be expressed, they enable consideration of whether sufficient information has been gathered on particular groups of values, and to what extent ‘cleaving’ of landscape-related information has occurred. In this way, the framework can be used to identify the relative contribution of existing disciplinary studies to an overall understanding of the landscape, affords a means of considering any limitations of existing studies, and highlights areas that could require more study. Although the application of the models has not provided sufficient detail on which to base management decisions, the findings highlight the gaps of knowledge about the landscape values as a whole, and point to areas which require more detailed studies.

The models work well in tandem. The Cultural Values Model provides a systematic framework for analysing community and disciplinary data. The Dimensional Landscape Model then enables the resulting data to be synthesised by capturing and locating key landscape-related values.

Testing of the models on the Akaroa landscape revealed no major shortcomings in the models. Two refinements occurred. One was the emergence of the concepts of surface and embedded values, which together form the composite landscape. These ideas fit neatly around the Cultural Values Model and are conceptually useful. Another development was that the application of the Dimensional Landscape Model resulted in a greater focus on visual presentation than had originally been envisaged. The nodes-networks-spaces-layers concepts proved to be particularly amenable to visual presentation. The resulting figures

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proved to be extremely useful in highlighting the power of the model in offering an integrated understanding of landscape values.

Overall, the application of the models enabled a wide range of value types to be recognised, analysed and linked, providing the basis for a holistic and integrated understanding of the landscape as a whole.

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CHAPTER 9

DISCUSSION

9.1 Introduction

The application of the Cultural Values Model and Dimensional Landscape Model to the Akaroa case study represented the final stage of research. The research findings have been productive in several respects – in revealing something of the nature of cultural values in landscapes; in enabling the development of the model framework; and in having potential relevance both to planning and to other disciplines.

In this chapter, the findings are discussed from several perspectives. In Section 9.2, some conclusions are drawn on the range and nature of cultural values in landscapes, and on the evolving meaning of ‘landscape’. The models themselves are discussed in Section 9.3, in light of their usefulness for understanding cultural values, and for linking values to landscapes. The wider relevance of the models is then discussed, in relation to planning theory (Section 9.4), planning practice (Section 9.5), in relation to other disciplines (Section 9.6) and finally in relation to inter-disciplinary approaches to landscape studies (Section 9.7) and in light of theories on the nature of space and time (Section 9.8). Possible areas of future research are identified throughout these sections. Finally, the validity of the research process is discussed in Section 9.9.

9.2 Cultural values in landscapes

A key theme of the research process was to discover the nature and range of cultural values that might be expressed in relation to landscapes. As stated in Chapter 1, cultural values were taken to be those values which are shared by a group or community, or that are given legitimacy through a socially accepted way of assigning value. In order to avoid, as far as possible, any preconceptions about the nature and range of cultural

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values in landscapes, the research drew from three main potential sources of cultural value – from landscape-related disciplines, from two indigenous cultures, and from case study interviews. The total array of values was far broader than the interest of any single discipline, but at the same time there was a high degree of internal concurrence.

In the Bannockburn and Akaroa case studies, for example, a similar nature and range of value types were expressed by community members: significant components of the landscape identified by community members included scenic beauty, sensory impressions, natural features (landforms, vegetation), historic features, sense of history, traditional and contemporary activities and events, stories, myths, genealogical links, spirituality, identity and sense of place. Even though the specific values of the two landscapes differed greatly, the nature and range of values were similar.

The range of cultural values expressed by disciplines also showed convergence with the range of values expressed by community members. As reported in Chapter 5, the values or meanings of importance to disciplines could be clustered into similar categories to community-based values. Values arising from indigenous world-views were also echoed in the community interviews and in some disciplinary approaches to landscape.

Both case studies revealed that values are not limited to the physical forms of landscapes but also relate to contemporary or past practices, and to relationships with the landscape. Although the visual and experiential aspects of the landscape are certainly important, most associated community members and tribal members associated with the area also give great significance to values that have developed over time. The emphasis given to embedded values bears out Crang's (1998) suggestion that “…places provide an anchor of shared experiences between people and continuity over time. Spaces become places as they become ‘time-thickened’. They have a past and a future that binds people together round them” (p103). As a whole, the localised values create a distinctive identity that comprises the relationships between people and the landscape. They contribute to the sense of belonging that was expressed by many

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interviewees, and, as particularly revealed by Māori respondents, are a powerful part of cultural identity.

The more detailed analysis of the Akaroa interviews revealed that cultural values can be associated with specific places or features (nodes), with linkages or lineal features (networks), or can apply at an areal level (spaces). These values can arise from activities or processes, or from associations and meanings, as much as from the physical forms of the landscape.

The research outcomes suggest that cultural values are largely associated with continuity, but that in some circumstances, landscape changes may also be valued. In the case studies, most of the values expressed in interviews related either to embedded values (themselves reflecting continuity), or to surface values that the interviewee was reluctant to see changed (such as views, light quality, walking through the landscape). The importance of continuity was conveyed in many way, from direct statements (‘my ancestor cleared that land’, or, ‘I used to go there as a child’) to indirect references such as concerns about change (‘don’t like the pine plantation’). At the same time, it became clear that some values change over time, such as the very common refrain at Akaroa in favour of regenerating bush, whereas earlier generations had cleared it to establish highly-valued grasslands. Another more example of valued change was the building of Onuku marae at Akaroa, a relatively recent development that was valued by both European and Māori respondents. In seeking to understand values, therefore, awareness is needed that, while most values are likely to be founded in continuity, some values may decline or become stronger over time, and new values may emerge. It would be useful to explore this further, particularly in respect of seeking better ways of managing change in landscapes.

The case studies showed that it is not unusual for the same landscape feature to be valued for multiple different reasons. Sometimes these reasons appeared unrelated (for example, the significance of Tuhiraki/ Mt Bossu at Akaroa included its visual appearance, its role as a weather marker, and its origin as Rakaihautu’s kō). In other instances there appears to be a dynamic relationship between forms, relationships and/or

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practices, particularly for key features. At Onawe, for example, the visible forms of the site where the battle took place with Te Rauparaha were supported by the stories and spiritual significance of the feature, and reinforced further for tangata whenua by their (now formalised) role as active caretakers. At Bannockburn, the continued use of the historic Carrick water race by local farmers helps ensure its survival, and also cements its significance for local people. It is tempting to conclude that values are experienced most strongly where forms, relationships and practices can continue to dynamically interact, and that values are cross-generative – for example, that ongoing practices reinforce the value of forms, and in doing so maintain relationships. However, further research is required to test these suppositions.

The findings also suggest that part of the power of landscapes is how they represent multiple cultures, and can make these cultures visible and accessible. In Akaroa in particular, the analysis showed that values were shared across cultural streams. Many of the interviewees of European descent, for example, gave high value to Māori cultural components in the landscape. This suggests that the visibility and accessibility of other cultural codes within landscapes may aid in generating a cross-cultural awareness and appreciation. This is another potential area for further research.

Although case studies were only in rural areas, urban landscapes can also be storehouses of social memory (Hayden 1995). Urban areas, even more than rural areas, are created from human modification of the environment. Not only do they bear the physical imprint of the past in the layout of streets and in the forms of buildings; they also reflect cultural traditions and cultural identity of the communities who live or work in them (Domicelj and Domicelj 1990). Cultural values are thus closely tied to the forms of the built environment and its transcendent meanings. Given that much of the work of planners is in the urban environment, it would be useful to research insider values to see whether a similar range of values are inherent in urban landscapes.

The multi-disciplinary literature review revealed a broad sweep of disciplines with landscape interests. It was found that, while each discipline focuses on a limited aspect of landscape, as a whole they offer a comprehensive array of landscape information,

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albeit largely from an ‘outsider’ point of view. Some disciplinary interests overlap, but many consider quite different components of landscape or use quite different perspectives. Cultural anthropologists, for example, may be interested in the ideological aspects of landscape, whereas ecologists may examine patterns of ecological diversity, and landscape architects may consider scenic value. This is not a problem except where one disciplinary approach is taken to represent the landscape as a whole, to the detriment of other forms of value. In the Akaroa study, for example, a limited range of disciplines had contributed formally to landscape studies, and the majority of these were carried out by landscape architects who largely concentrated on visual and natural values. This suggests that careful attention needs to be given to the nature and purpose of landscape studies to ensure that, as far as possible, they capture the range of values implicit in the particular landscape under study.

9.2.1 Ways of understanding values

Discovering cultural values in landscapes requires a broad net. It involves looking at community-expressed values, discipline-expressed values, and the specific landscape context. It requires looking beyond standard assumptions of ‘value’ and accepting that scientific and ecological significance is just as much an expression of value as spirituality or aesthetics. It entails acceptance of values expressed in many forms – qualitative and quantitative, subjective and objective, tangible and intangible, secular and spiritual. It is necessary to recognise that landscapes are places where the values of different cultures meet and overlap, so that legitimacy must be given to different cultural world-views. It involves realisation that the same part of a landscape may be valued for many different reasons, and an acceptance that all of these may be valid.

Cultural values are integrally tied to space and time. Over time, human actions and associations with a particular physical environment create a set of values distinctive to that landscape. Values can only be comprehensively understood at a landscape-specific level. Studies at a more general level may inform as to generic values but will not inform about cultural significance in any detail, and particularly not embedded values. Studies of landscape preference, for example, which seek to determine preference for

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landscape typologies, fail to represent the distinctive values of localities. Just as ecological assessments require an understanding of the interactions between the particular plants, animals and environmental conditions of a locality, cultural values assessments should involve an understanding of a locality’s particular surface and embedded values, and the local dynamic interactions between valued forms, practices and relationships.

Discipline-based methods of determining surface values – in particular those associated with physical forms, such as ecological or aesthetic assessments – are reasonably well developed. Far less attention appears to have been paid to determining embedded values, except by disciplines with an interest in the past. In part, this may be because such values are often difficult to access. They may be concealed for various reasons, such as Ngai Tahu’s ‘silent files’ of sacred places in the Akaroa landscape. They may be held by only a few people (such as the Bouakai story at Bannockburn). More often, though, I suggest, they are not considered because of the lack of an accepted ‘language’ with which to express them. In the case studies, for example, interviewees were limited to statements like ‘there’s something special about the place but I don’t know how to put it into words’. Interestingly, this lack of a language structure to describe embedded values appears to be more of European problem than an indigenous one. In Akaroa, for example, the Ngai Tahu Resource Management Strategy had identified some embedded values important to that tribal group, albeit mostly at a very general level. No equivalent study had occurred of European embedded values, possibly on the assumption that Europeans were only interested in aesthetic and natural values. The case studies, however, show that their sense of landscape significance is far wider than this.

The approach taken in the case studies appeared to be relatively successful in drawing out embedded values of both Māori and European (many of which were shared). This involved gathering information from two directions – firstly, developing an understanding of the local physical, historic and social context, and secondly engaging with insiders so as to discover the shared values that arise from this context. Given the relative absence of standardised methods of accessing embedded values, it would be

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valuable to undertake additional research to develop appropriate methodologies, possibly through testing and developing the interviewing approach used in the case studies.

Another way of accessing cultural values may be through examining what I will call ‘cultural codes’. By this I mean seeking the meanings behind expressions relating to the landscape, which may be expressed verbally, through actions, or through constructions. The findings of the case studies suggest that stories, songs and myths can be coded ways of describing the significance of particular places or the landscape as a whole. In Māori culture, for example, people formally introduce themselves through mihi that convey their spiritual and genealogical connectedness to landscapes through reference to specific features (mountains, rivers etc). Although it was not explored in the context of this research, art may also be a ‘code’ for landscape significance, although it may convey personal value rather than shared values. Other codes may be implicit in the names of places, such as the Māori names in the Akaroa harbour that refer directly to past activities and to ancestral figures, and names that link directly to early European settlers. Some literature that touched on the significance of place names was reviewed in Chapter 5 (e.g. Hardesty 2000; Dominy 1995; Salmond 1982), but further research opportunities may lie in testing the utility and validity of using localised cultural codes as a ‘way in’ to understanding landscape value.

9.2.2 The nature of landscape

As well as revealing a great deal about cultural values, the research findings also revealed something of the nature of landscape. Drawing from the disciplines, case studies and indigenous world-views, it became clear that the landscape concept contains multiple meanings. As discussed in Chapter 5, landscape can be scenery, topography, nature, environment and habitat. It can be a human-modified artefact, a resource for development, or a place or territory. Moving further into its socio-spatial aspects, it may be ecological, cultural, economic and political. As a cultural phenomena it may connote an area, its physical forms, its functional processes, or aesthetic and subjective impressions of the place, and beyond this it may resonate with poetic, ideological and

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symbolic meaning (Lineham and Gross 1998). As a place where different cultures have acted, met and interacted, it is a repository of signs, memories and meanings. Layers of linguistic, social, spiritual and ecological knowledge rest below the visible panorama. In all, the word has become loaded with so many connotations that it eludes easy definition, but it is clear that it has moved beyond its origins in ‘scenery’ and ‘domain’ (Tuan 1978). Its meaning has progressed over the past century from reflecting values relating to art and scenery, to valuing physical forms, culturally determined features and natural systems, and more latterly encompassing aspects of culture, activity, meaning, spirituality and connectedness. This evolving richness was reflected in the results of interviews in both Bannockburn and Akaroa.

Just why ‘landscape’ is being so widely adopted and adapted bears consideration. Its increased use by disciplines has been widely commented on, with a common consensus that the concept of ‘landscape’ offers a broad, expansive and inclusive approach (e.g. Terkenli 2001; Stoddart 2000; Groth and Bressi 1997; Jackson 1989). But the reason why ‘landscape’ has been adapted by insiders, such as community members, (who would not necessarily be aware of how disciplines use landscape concepts) is less clear. I suggest that it may be driven at least partly by the rate of modern change. While change was slow and predictable, there was possibly no need for a word to capture the meaning and significance of landscape to its insiders. For them, landscape values were a given, while its outsider meanings were conveyed in the original sense of ‘landscape’ as scenery. Recent rapid change, however, has resulted in dislocation between insiders and their landscapes, loss of local distinctiveness, and loss of the meaning and significance of particular places.

The gradual realisation of the nature of these losses, and the desire to limit the effects of change, may have contributed to the adoption of ‘landscape’ to convey a sense of cultural values in a locality. I suggest that a cluster of culturally determined meanings have been attached to the word ‘landscape’ so that they can find a legitimate source of expression in the face of change. This suggestion is reinforced by the way in which Ngai Tahu use ‘landscape’ to convey a raft of cultural meanings, and also by the adoption of the word ‘country’ by Aboriginal people to convey the sense of the cultural

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significance of surroundings. These deeper meanings are not captured by the words or concepts that are in common use by decision-makers or by the agents of change. The closest equivalent to ‘landscape’, for example, is ‘environment’, the catchword of global environmental awareness. ‘Environment’ is frequently used in planning contexts, and is used to refer primarily to natural and physical features, locale and setting. It has an abstract but rational meaning, and may have been less adaptable to reflecting human values due to its positivist connotations and its emphasis on natural systems. ‘Landscape’, on the other hand, has proved itself sufficiently adaptable that a cluster of culturally determined meanings has been attached to the word so as to find a legitimate source of expression in the face of change. It would be interesting to pursue this proposition further.

In short, ‘landscape’ now appears to be shorthand for located cultural significance, inclusive of the value clusters of both outsiders and insiders. In this sense, the phrase ‘cultural values in landscapes’ may be a tautology, as ‘landscape’ itself appears to now encompass the idea of cultural values in space and time.

9.3 The landscape framework

9.3.1 The Cultural Values Model

The Cultural Values Model was developed from an analysis of the meaning and significance given to landscape by disciplines, two indigenous cultures, and the Bannockburn interviewees. It offers a structured way to consider the nature and range of cultural values in landscapes, focusing particularly on the meaning and experience of particular landscapes rather than generic landscape values. It proposes that the valued aspects of landscapes can be understood in an integrated way through consideration of forms, relationships and practices; the dynamic interactions between these; and how these interactions have continued over time. It suggests that values arise both from immediate responses to the ‘surface landscape’, and from associations with and knowledge of the ‘embedded landscape’.

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The model proposes an inclusive approach to cultural values. Regardless of whether ‘culture’ is taken to be symbols or practices (Ingold 1994), the Cultural Values Model captures values expressed in either form. It also helps identify compounded values (where part of the landscape may be valued for many different reasons) and the dynamic interactions between values (where, for example, forms, relationships and practices reinforce one another). By drawing attention to both surface and embedded values, it ensures that the “veins of myth and memory that lie beneath the surface” (Schama 1996:14) are not overlooked.

The application of the Cultural Values Model to the Akaroa case study revealed it to be extremely productive. The model was shown to have analytical potential, enabling the interview data to be approached from a variety of directions, to reveal a far more detailed understanding of the landscape than had been attained with the Bannockburn study (which was not analysed in this way). The model proved to be highly adaptable in incorporating both interview data and information from disciplinary studies, and offered a structure within which to build up an understanding of cultural values from a variety of sources of information.

The Cultural Values Model also proved to be unexpectedly useful for identifying the relative contribution of disciplinary studies to an overall understanding of the landscape. As revealed through the Akaroa study, it is possible to ‘locate’ any given study within the model by looking at the landscape component studied (forms, practices and/or relationships), and whether it relates to the surface or embedded landscape. This analysis made it clear that some disciplinary landscape approaches mainly deal with the surface landscape; whereas others are interested in what the landscape tells about the past. Landscape architects, for example, may seek to understand human preference for scenery, based on photographs of landscape features. In contrast, environmental historians and archaeologists attempt in different ways to trace the past in the landscape. By examining and ‘locating’ all of the landscape-related studies available for a given landscape, it is possible to identify any fundamental gaps in the understanding of the landscape as a whole. It also helps provide an overview of the types of knowledge available about a given landscape, as a starting point for a holistic understanding.

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9.3.2 The Dimensional Landscape Model

The Dimensional Landscape Model provides a link between substantive and conceptual approaches to landscape, by providing a way of considering the spatial and temporal dimensions of cultural values. It is based on the conceptual structure of the Cultural Values Model, and seeks to locate the cultural dimensions of landscape as both tangible and intangible phenomena. By straddling rationalist and humanist means of expression, the model is designed to integrate information that may have arisen from quite different methodologies. Drawing common threads from existing disciplinary and indigenous models of landscape, it offers a framework of layers and webs to consider embedded and relational aspects of the landscape, and provides a dimensional framework of nodes, networks and spaces to locate and link key values.

In its application to the Akaroa case study, the Dimensional Landscape Model was able to consolidate data that had emerged through the Cultural Values assessment. The components of the model (nodes, networks, spaces etc) proved to have a good fit with the ways in which the community members talked about their landscape. Values that had a direct physical link were relatively straightforward to model, and the greatest challenge was whether the model would be suitable to convey intangibles that have a more general association with the landscape, such as genealogical networks. By drawing in particular from indigenous models, network and layering concepts proved to be adaptable for this purpose, although further research and development of these concepts would be useful. Overall, the dimensional concepts worked well to convey both tangible and intangible values.

The concepts in the Dimensional Landscape Model also help express how landscape meaning and significance arises from the past. The concept of layers in the model provides a way of conveying landscape’s “quality of simultaneity” (Anschuetz, Wilshusen, and Scheick 2001:186). Webs and layers can be used to analyse key influences from the past that continue to generate values, and to help understand how values can compound around particular aspects of the landscape. Examining the layers of the embedded landscape can also help identify cultural significance that might

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otherwise be overlooked, particularly where there is little or no physical presence, such as the place where a particular event occurred.

A shortcoming of the study was that the landscape diagrams produced from the Akaroa study had insufficient detail to be useful for landscape management purposes as they stood. As touched on in Chapter 8, the Dimensional Landscape Model did not generate precise mapped details as to the synthesised values of the landscape. At best, the application of the concepts provided only a rough guide as to the range and nature of values. This is largely a result of the research process, which set out to develop conceptual models and indicate their potential, rather than generate a precise and accurate reflection of the composite values of the landscape as a whole. It is hoped that, as neatly expressed by Gren (2001) in relation to the work of Hägerstrand, the abstractions of the model can “make visible what otherwise would have remained invisible or taken-for-granted” (p214). This being said, further research potential lies in application of these concepts using more sophisticated methods of capturing spatial and temporal relationships, as discussed below in Section 9.6.

Overall, the model offers a way to consider and incorporate information on landscape meaning and value from a variety of sources to build up an understanding of the spatial spread of values as a whole. It also enables values to be integrated through linking them in their spatial and temporal and dimensions. By building up a compounded visual image, the model can be used to highlight both tangible and intangible values in the landscape.

9.3.3 A framework for understanding

The models have been designed to work together as a framework for understanding landscape values. The Cultural Values Model provides a systematic framework for analysing community and disciplinary data. The Dimensional Landscape Model enables this information to be synthesised by capturing and ‘locating’ key landscape-related values in space and time.

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Together, the two models and their underlying conceptual structure create a framework for understanding landscape in an integrated way. Many other approaches to landscape evaluation tend to fractionate it according to disciplinary interests, cultural preference or other forms of cleaving (e.g. focusing on tangible v. intangible, and objective v. subjective values). Landscape, however, is an inclusive concept, and the structure of the Cultural Values Model offers a way out of such impasses. Even the fundamental division between nature and culture is incorporated within the model through the proposition that assessments of natural values are a cultural construct.

Modelling the landscape can be similarly fractionated along disciplinary lines. In the Akaroa study, for example, community members valued all landscape components (nodes, networks and spaces) for a range of reasons, yet the disciplinary studies of the area tended to focus on single dimensions. The formal landscape assessments, for example, were primarily at a spatial level (identification of homogenous areas) whereas the archaeological values were identified as nodes (single sites). This suggests that, even within a single discipline such as archaeology, aspects of value may not be formally recognised because of the particular identification techniques focus on a particular dimension. A disciplinary focus on historic sites (nodes), for example, may mean that spatial values such as early farming patterns will be overlooked.

By focusing on the totality of landscape values rather than a specific disciplinary expression of them, the landscape framework thus offers insights into the relative contribution of different disciplinary approaches to understanding the whole. Additionally, it generates a conceptual and visual synthesis of information, enabling values and meanings to be considered in relation to each other and in relation to the physical environment. By drawing attention to the relative contribution of different information sources to understanding the landscape as a whole, the models can also assist in identifying shortcomings in understandings of the landscape, and thus where more information may need to be gathered.

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Overall, the landscape framework provided by the models provides the basis for an integrated and holistic understanding of cultural values in landscapes. The framework has relevance on both theoretical and applied planes, particularly in relation to planning theory and methodology.

9.4 Relevance to planning theory

The review of planning literature revealed an unexpected lack of theory regarding the qualitative values of space. Planning theorists appear to have focused on considering what does and should happen in space, how it should occur, and what processes should be used to get there, while largely ignoring its existing socio-cultural context. In application, planning is still largely the process of ‘making plans’ – master plans, maps, policies and other tools of control, which presume that a unitary, unbiased representation of the planned-for is possible. In this sense, the ‘space’ of planning is largely rationalist and objective.

Planning’s limited understanding of spatial values carries through into its approach to landscape. At a methodological level, while planning gives consideration to certain types of landscape value, this occurs in a fragmented way and focuses largely on measurable components of the landscape. A notable deficiency is the lack of an integrated approach to understanding landscape values.

9.4.1 Contribution to planning theory

This theoretical void needs to be addressed because of the particular roles the planning discipline plays as ‘gatekeeper’ and ‘synthesiser’. As a gatekeeper, it sets or steers agendas for future change and development. It therefore has a crucial role in determining the extent to which change will affect the values and meanings of the landscape. As a synthesiser, planning draws from information created by many other disciplines in order to generate a comprehensive understanding of the issue at hand. To

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carry this out effectively in relation to landscapes, it requires a conceptual base from which to appreciate the contribution any single discipline may make to an understanding of landscape as a whole. Planning also has a strong theoretical bent towards social inclusiveness, which cannot be fully realised until it can find ways of incorporating located socio-cultural values into its decision-making frameworks.

The theoretical framework of the Cultural Values and Dimensional Landscape Models offers a way to address the void. This framework challenges planners’ rational and objective representations of space, and invites them to generate a comprehensive understanding of the qualities of the landscapes that they plan in. Underlying the framework is the proposition that the first step in determining the future of localities should be an understanding of their rich and distinctive values. Stewart, Liebert, and Larkin (2004) capture this purpose well: Without a vision that connects people with each other and to the places of their local landscape, the desirable end-state of planning is left incomplete and opportunities for community-building through civic debate are lost. Resulting plans will be disproportionately devoted to infrastructure development details, without due attention given to community identities that would distinguish one locale from another. (p3)

Rather than being solely focused on future change, planners should at the same time give serious consideration to the surface and embedded values of landscapes, and the connections between people and their localities.

The landscape framework also provides a way of conceptualising a landscape’s values. The models offer a coherent and structured way of conceiving cultural values and linking them to the landscape. By providing a language based on interrelated key concepts, the models create a basis for understanding, sharing and communicating landscape values. They also sketch out a theoretical structure that incorporates both qualitative and quantitative spatial significance.

The framework of the landscape models also offers some new perspectives on sustainability. Sustainability is associated with concepts of integrity, longevity and dynamic stability. The landscape models offer a way of analysing the relationships

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between people and their surroundings over time, to reveal the forms, relationships and practices that have been sustained over time, and what practices have proved to be unsustainable in the past. This may assist in determining the parameters of sustainability for a given area, and may help inform how to achieve continuity of sustainable cultural, environmental and economic factors into the future.

The models are likely to be particularly useful in the consideration of socio-cultural sustainability. Sustainability agendas typically focus strongly on the environment, and consequently place emphasis on sustaining the integrity of physical systems. While these are essential to life, socio-cultural continuity is also crucial, particularly at the local level where social meanings are most powerful and where people interact with environment most intimately. The models offer a way of understanding human- landscape dynamics and, following from this, how to sustain the practices, relationships and forms that are keys to cultural and social identity.

9.4.2 Relationship to theoretical literature

The landscape framework offered by the Cultural Values Model and Dimensional Landscape Model is consistent with certain themes in the planning literature. One of these is the emerging interest in space, particularly as discussed by theorists who are seeking ways of conceptualising its multiple and non-rational complexities (e.g. Perry 1995; Graham and Healey 1999; Jensen and Richardson 2001; Harris and Hooper 2004). In line with this theme, the landscape models offer a conceptual structure in which to consider spatially expressed values.

Another theme is public participation in the planning process, and the legitimisation of multiple forms of knowledge. This can be seen in post-positivist approaches generally, and more specifically in models of empowerment and inclusivity (e.g. Davidoff 1965; Friedmann 1973; Healey 1997; Sandercock 1998). The landscape framework is designed to recognise and incorporate values expressed by communities and culture

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groups, and in particular seeks to ensure that the wide range of values that might emerge from different cultural constructs can be taken into account.

The power of place is a further theme in planning literature. It is strongly expressed in relation to the need for urban design to preserve historic buildings and townscapes (e.g. Geddes 1915) and to provide traditional sense of place and feeling of community in new developments (e.g. Arendt, Leccese, and McCormick 1999). However it is, as yet, a relatively quiet theme in relation to the need to consider existing place-based values (e.g. Hayden 1995) and is largely confined to urban models. The landscape framework provides a structure to help understand localised significance, and can potentially be applied at a variety of scales. It is also based on the premise that cultural values are not limited to urban areas, or to places of great historic significance, but can be found in all landscapes, both urban and rural.

Sustainability, while not a ‘planning theory’, has influenced planning by introducing a broader concern for the environment generally, and by encouraging integration of social, economic and environmental factors in decision-making (Brundtland 1987; Bigg 2004). The concept of landscape offered through the landscape framework captures a significant breadth of issues of importance to sustainability, including the physical environment, cultural integrity, biological diversity, place attachment and community cohesion. It locates such concerns in relation to particular communities of interest and provides a means of developing an integrated understanding of localised sustainability.

In summary, the landscape framework addresses a theoretical shortcoming that has been identified from within the planning discipline, which could be summarised as a lack of recognition of the socio-cultural significance of space. It offers a way of spanning the ‘void’ identified in the planning literature, and its approach is consistent with contemporary themes in planning literature. It advances planning theory by proposing a logically interrelated language and structure for understanding both qualitative and quantitative values in landscapes, and for considering these values in an integrated way.

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9.5 Relevance to planning practice

The impetus for this research was a cluster of problems that are perceived as arising from inappropriately managed landscape change. These problems include the loss of local distinctiveness, loss of sense of place, loss of cultural meaning and identity, loss of continuity, and the fragmentation and degradation of culturally valued aspects of the landscape. Planning has a key role in change, development and protection, both in proposing new developments, and in controlling or directing developments proposed by others, and thus has a direct responsibility for addressing these problems.

The review of planning literature revealed that the main ways in which aspects of landscape value are incorporated into decision-making are through urban design (including parks and recreation areas), assessments of landscape quality (usually using ‘expert’ methods and focusing mainly on aesthetic and experiential qualities), assessments of ‘naturalness’ or ecological value, and assessments of heritage value. While consideration is thus given to some aspects of landscapes, problems at a methodological level include poor consideration of the significance of landscapes to communities and associated culture groups, and a reliance on experts to define landscape significance. In addition, landscape values are often assessed according to a narrow group of predetermined categories (‘historic places’, ‘natural coastline’) which do not necessarily reflect the rich complexity of value in any given landscape. In relation to the New Zealand context, these problems are exemplified by the administrative and legal separation of ‘natural’ and ‘cultural’ aspects of the landscape (discussed in Section 2.3.6). Flowing from this, the planning provisions for the landscapes in the two study areas identify only a minimal range of significant places and features (see Sections 4.2.3 and 8.3.1) which indicates a very limited recognition of values compared to the range of values expressed by informants. Clearly, there is room for improvement.

As well as offering a conceptual approach, the framework of the Cultural Values Model and Dimensional Landscape Model provides a possible means of developing improved methods of landscape understanding and management for those in the planning

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discipline. It is intended to be complementary to existing methods of understanding and managing landscapes. The landscape framework may help to tackle the reductionist tendencies of current practice by providing a means of integrating landscape-related information. It draws attention to the importance of understanding the past in order to determine the future, and emphasises the importance of gaining an appreciation of the socio-spatial matrix prior to making decisions about landscape change. The landscape framework does not diminish the significance of environmental and economic issues in decision-making, but offers a means to raise the ‘poor cousin’ profile of socio-cultural significance. It makes it clear that meanings are not inherent in the physical environment, but reflect the experiences, knowledge and world-view of communities, culture groups and disciplines. In all of these areas, the framework has implications for planning practice.

Use of the models presupposes the need for a comprehensive understanding of a landscape. Landscape in this sense may include an urban area, a rural area, or a wilderness. It may have a small extent (e.g. a designed garden, a city square or a farm) or cover a large area (e.g. an entire valley). It may be a landscape that is known to have particular significance (e.g. a well-known historic or scenic landscape) or it may be an ‘ordinary’ landscape with unknown values.

There may be a variety of reasons for requiring a comprehensive understanding of landscape values. A landscape assessment may provide valuable information that can be incorporated into plans or policies that guide future development and protection of an area, so that cultural values can be sustained or enhanced. It could be that a major development is proposed that would be likely to result in significant change to the landscape, and detailed knowledge of the cultural values of the area would assist in determining the nature and location of development. Change may be occurring that is of concern to the affected community or culture group, and it may be important to fully comprehend the nature of the landscape in order to appreciate how change is cumulatively affecting its values. In a situation of multiple conflicting values, a comprehensive study could help defuse tension by working against the tendency to cleave significance, involving all stakeholders in identifying valued forms, relationships

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and practices, and providing a common understanding of the significance of the whole. In short, the landscape framework has the potential to generate more knowledge in an area that has received relatively little attention in the planning discipline, and one which deeply affects people, indigenous groups and communities.

For planners working in the field, the suggestion that cultural values in landscapes should be taken into account is likely to give rise to some critical methodological questions. How can values be determined? How can their spatial significance be determined? How do they relate to the physical environment? When should landscape assessments be done? What landscapes should be studied? Who should be involved in determining significance? The landscape framework is not a methodology as such, but its concepts are suitable to underscore a methodology to assist in addressing these questions. The following section proposes ways in which it is envisaged the framework could be used in an applied sense to help address some of these methodological questions.

9.5.1 Using the landscape framework

Assessing the cultural values of a landscape should be approached in much the same way as an environmental assessment. Just as it is now reasonably common to develop a clear picture of the environmental significance of an area prior to development, it should become commonplace to develop a comprehensive understanding of its cultural values. Such studies should ideally be carried out by planners on a regular basis as part of a standard policy-making, monitoring and assessment processes. Some of the possible components of a comprehensive landscape study based on the landscape framework are outlined below.

Background research

A fundamental implication of the landscape framework is that to understand a landscape’s values, it is imperative to first understand its physical and social history. This may require researching existing disciplinary studies, and oral and published

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histories. Without this context, it would not be possible to develop an understanding of the embedded landscape. As shown by the Bannockburn and Akaroa case studies, such contextual research assists in two ways – firstly in providing familiarity with the types of embedded values that might be expressed by community members, and secondly in providing a later source of data for the Cultural Values and Dimensional Landscape models.

Collecting information

Because the models create a structure for considering values and dimensions as a whole, they highlight the need to gather information from a variety of sources so that all parts of the models are addressed. By being inclusive of all forms of value (e.g. tangible/intangible, natural/cultural, multi-cultural) and all disciplinary expressions of value, the landscape framework draws attention to reductionist tendencies to cleave information and to rely on a single disciplinary expression of value. Instead, it promotes the user to draw from a range of formal and informal sources of information expressed by both insiders and outsiders. In practice, this may include interviewing those who have particular attachments to the landscape, drawing information from existing disciplinary studies, and commissioning extra studies where the models revealed there was an absence of information. To understand the significance of the landscape to indigenous culture groups, for example, it may be necessary to gain a background of the specific world-view and history of that group within the landscape.

A fundamental implication of the landscape framework is the need to engage with ‘insiders’ of the particular landscape. This may include people who live in the landscape, those who spend regular periods of time there, and those who have cultural or genealogical associations with the landscape. Depending on the situation, it may also be necessary to engage with tourists or visitors – ‘outsiders’ – particularly if the significance of the place is largely based on the surface landscape.

Methods of community engagement are part of the standard social science repertoire, but drawing out human relationships with landscapes may require special techniques.

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Some examples of approaches taken within non-planning disciplines have been touched on throughout the preceding chapters (e.g. Hawkins and Selman 2002; Dakin 2003; Selman 2004; de la Torre 2002)), but more research is needed to develop suitable methods for use in a planning context.

As a starting point, the landscape framework may provide a useful structure around which to frame interviews and other consultation techniques. For example, it could prove effective to frame questions around the key concepts of the models – asking, for example, about the forms, practices and relationships that are important to community members, directing questions about both the surface and embedded landscape, drawing out what layers of the past generated significance, and asking what nodes, networks, spaces and webs are of shared importance to people. Research would be required to determine the effectiveness of this approach in determining landscape values compared to the use of more open questions.

Consultation may be supplemented by other ways of eliciting values. Given that many values are difficult to express verbally, it could be useful to also engage in non-verbal methods of expressing value, such as encouraging community members to draw mental maps (e.g. Soini 2001) or take photographs of valued places (e.g. Dakin 2003). As mentioned in Section 9.2.1, landscapes are replete with ‘codes’ – such as names, myths, stories and art – that help to convey meaning and significance from the past into the future. Expressions of concern about past and future change can also be analysed to determine the values underlying the concerns.

Involving communities

The landscape framework emphasises the importance of landscapes to ‘insiders’. Clearly, it is necessary to discover the views of those living in and associated with a specific landscape, but this process is not necessarily limited to planning practitioners. Using the landscape framework, it would be equally possible for a community or tribal group (or both together) to carry out their own structured assessment of cultural values. By encouraging the collaboration of ‘insiders’ in understanding the nature and

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dimensions of their own localised values, it may be easier to develop mutual strategies for the future management of those values.

Analysis and integration

The landscape framework is likely to be particularly useful to planners in analysing and synthesising the outcomes of ‘insider’ and ‘outsider’ research. Each model has a different function – the Cultural Values Model is concerned with what creates significance, and the Dimensional Landscape Model is concerned with what is given significance.

If a similar approach to the Akaroa study is used, the Cultural Values Model could assist in interpreting the ‘insider’ and ‘outsider’ data. This information could be analysed and grouped according to the forms, practices and relationships that are significant in the landscape, and whether these relate to the surface landscape or the embedded landscape. Analysis of value clusters could help to generate an understanding of the cultural dynamics of the landscape. Examining continuities and discontinuities over time could assist with understanding and promoting sustainability. Key forms, relationships and practices are likely to emerge where these values are widely shared or are deeply significant to a community or culture group, or where value is synchronous (e.g. the same feature has both ecological and aesthetic significance). Places with potentially conflicting values may also emerge. These latter situations are most likely to be those where careful management practices will be required.

For planners, the Dimensional Landscape Model could then provide a means of generating visual summaries of this information, and in particular how values are dimensioned across the landscape. The key layers and webs of the embedded landscape can be shown in diagrammatic summaries, which can aid in conveying information within the discipline and for sharing with others (e.g. community members). Key values of the composite landscape can be summarised as nodes, networks and spaces. Linking information in spatial and temporal dimensions can enable values to be considered in an integrated way.

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As a whole, the Dimensional Landscape Model offers a way to respect and incorporate contributions of various disciplines and communities of interest. It is designed to fit reasonably well with methods used by many disciplines and indigenous groups to represent or map tangible and intangible significance. Identification of embedded and intangible values is particularly important for management decision-making, given that there is not necessarily any visual indication of significance on the surface landscape. The model locates values, differentiates between them, and indicates where values may be cumulative, compounding or conflicting. By identifying distinctions in the landscape without fragmenting it into parts, the model is potentially a valuable tool for planners to understand landscape values in an integrated way.

Management

Ultimately, planning practice is about determining future directions. In relation to landscapes, planners are likely to be involved in determining management strategies through tools such as policies, plans or consent processes. The landscape framework offers some assistance in the development of appropriate management strategies, and aids particularly in recognising values that would otherwise be relatively invisible and therefore unaccounted for in management decision-making.

The outcomes of the analysis described above are likely to be in written and diagrammatic form, linked to more detailed sources of information in disciplinary studies, formal assessments and community feedback. A number of management issues may arise from this: in particular how to determine what is important, how it should be managed, and by whom. In relation to the first, the analysis is likely to indicate those aspects of the landscape (forms, relationships and practices) are of key cultural significance, and where these are located. It is also likely to reveal that some values relate to the surface landscape, and some to the embedded landscape. Some may relate to nodes, or to networks, or to spaces, and in some situations to whole webs (e.g. historic farm patterns). This analysis enables the management strategy to focus in on these areas. Strategies for surface and embedded values may well differ – surface

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values, for example, are more likely to relate to physical and scenic significance, whereas embedded values may relate more to historic and spiritual significance, although there is also likely to be a considerable cross-over.

In developing management methods, consideration of the associations between forms, practices and relationships may reveal appropriate courses of action. To take a simple example, if a hill is important only as a weather-marker, then allowing changes to the form by, for example, allowing urban structures to be built, is unlikely to change this function. If it is important also as a lookout, it may be important to enable continued public access through the urban structures. If it is both of these plus a place of ecological and aesthetic significance, then these compounded values probably mean that it would be preferable to limit development to allow the continuation of these values. Given the tentative finding that forms, relationships and practices may be cross- generative, particular attention to the dynamics between these may also assist in devising management strategies.

The Dimensional Landscape Model can also assist in showing where management needs to focus on nodes, networks or spaces, or on webs, whether these are in the form of smaller patterns or landscape-wide. It makes it clear that to retain cultural values in the landscape, attention must be given to far more that physical forms, and a variety of other connections and linkages may also need to be nurtured.

The landscape framework can also contribute to an understanding of sustainability. As discussed previously, by highlighting continuities and discontinuities in forms, relationships and practices, the framework help show what has been sustained over time and how to sustain them into the future. The best way to sustaining a valued form may well involve sustaining its associated practices. Where particular landscape components or patterns are shown to be locally significant (rows of poplars at Bannockburn, for example), a management strategy may be to promote continuity of this pattern (e.g. by encouraging new plantings). Also, in providing a way to consider the cultural dynamics of the landscape, the framework offers insights into cultural sustainability.

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The maintenance of valued landscapes often requires active collaboration with local communities, disciplines and agencies with an interest in the area. A comprehensive landscape study can be a common point of reference for all stakeholders, and can assist them in working together to realise a strategy in which all can have a part to play.

In short, the framework helps planners to incorporate the ‘big unknown’ – cultural values – into management decision-making. It provides a means by which planners can consciously identify values of the past and present, and pull them through to the future. It can provide a shared point of reference for all parties, so that the ‘soft’ knowledge about localised values is not lost when there are changes in staff and politicians at a council or agency level. It can provide the basis for community involvement in managing valued landscape components. It can also assist planners in developing management strategies that ensure landscape transformations sustain locally distinctive cultural values, while avoiding changes that may harm valued forms, practices and relationships. In this way, the distinctive culture of ‘place’ can continue to be expressed and maintained through local traditions, activities and features – sustaining the elusive concepts of ‘sense of place’ and ‘sense of identity’.

In some ways, the thinking behind this proposed comprehensive landscape analysis is similar to McHarg's (1971) ecological inventories, except that it takes a broader approach that includes cultural values. In “Design with Nature”, McHarg proposed that urban growth should be designed in harmony with natural systems, and that environmental limitations should be mapped, using overlays, to determine appropriate locations for development. The landscape methodology proposed here does not have the specific purpose of determining growth areas, but shares the philosophy that it is necessary to determine, ahead of change, the important components of the landscape. In this sense, the methodological approach could be called “Design with Culture”.

As gatekeepers of development, planners have a key role in determining the future of landscapes, and therefore have a responsibility to consider the implications of change on cultural values. Application of the landscape framework, as outlined in this section, could underpin a methodology for planners to use when undertaking integrated

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landscape research and analysis. Although methodological approaches will require further development and testing, the framework offers a language and conceptual structure through which to grapple with the multi-faceted complexities of ‘cultural value’ and ‘landscape’, and to appreciate the relative contribution of associated cultures, communities and disciplines.

9.5.2 Principles for the identification and management of cultural values in landscapes

To operationalise the concepts discussed above, in relation to a valued landscape such as Akaroa, the following set of principles has been developed. These could be used by planners or others working for an agency with an interest in the long-term management of the area, by a proponent for a proposed development, or by a community or iwi/hapu group. The principles arise from the discussion above, and offer a basis for the identification and management of cultural values within the landscape.

Principles for identifying landscape values

1. The recognition and conservation of values in landscapes is vital to sustaining our distinctive cultures and communities, and our identity as a nation.

2. The process of heritage landscape identification and management will require strong leadership and facilitation skills. The leadership role will involve bringing together multiple parties and many sources of information about the landscape, and assisting stakeholders to achieve agreed management outcomes.

3. The recognition and management of values in landscapes requires - a holistic approach, seeing values as linked and interrelated within the landscape rather than as individual sites or places - a community-based approach, recognising that landscape value can be fundamental to local, tribal and national identity

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- a relationships approach, seeing values as arising from past and present relationships between people and the landscape, and between people within the landscape - an inclusive approach, recognising that landscape values overarch traditional divisions between nature and culture, and between objectivity and subjectivity

4. Valued aspects of landscapes may include: - the natural-cultural continuum of features - the natural-cultural continuum of processes - historical events within the landscape - evidence of earlier layers of features, uses and associations - both contemporary and past practices within the landscape - the relationships with the landscape held by the groups associated with it (e.g. iwi/hapu and communities living in the landscape)

5. Relationships with a landscape may include: - spirituality, sacredness - whakapapa / genealogical connections - stories and songs relating to the landscape - art and craft that has arisen from the landscape - names in the landscape - traditions and practices relating to the landscape - sensual or aesthetic responses - cultural or community identity - evidence of the past - sense of place

6. The multiple values of landscapes may be ascribed by - those communities and hapu/iwi that live within or have a particular relationship with the landscape (including land owners) - sector groups and agencies that view, use, manage or have other interests in the landscape

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- disciplines that have an interest in landscape (e.g. landscape architects, archaeologists, ecologists, historians) All of these values need to be taken into account in assessing the significance of landscapes and in their management.

7. To understand the values implicit in a landscape, research is required to determine the following: Valued relationships: - contemporary relationships between people and the landscape - past relationships between people and the landscape Valued events, practices and processes: - contemporary practices relating to the landscape - historical events and activities which occurred in the landscape - traditional practices relating to the landscape - natural processes associated with the landscape Valued forms of the landscape The dynamic interactions between forms, practices and relationships The ways in which these values are spatially associated with the landscape, with a focus on - nodes - networks - spaces - webs - layers Such research will involve actively engaging with all those who ascribe values to a particular landscape and drawing together information as to the value groupings described above.

8. There is no single prescribed method of capturing and conveying values in landscapes. While mapping (including GIS) can be useful, its ability to capture subjectivities and non-located values is limited. Other forms of expression, including abstract diagrams, art, song and text, may be required to supplement

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mapped information. The key is to ensure that the range of values expressed are adequately taken into account.

9. The range of values implicit in any given landscape may not necessarily be consistent or aligned. Different values add to the richness and complexity of the landscape. Resolution of conflicting values should occur during the development of a management approach rather than at the stage of gathering information.

Principles for managing landscape values

1. Landscapes cover extensive areas, involving single or multiple owners. In seeking to recognise cultural values in landscapes, the owners must be involved in the processes of identification and the development of management approaches.

2. The people who live in and associate with a landscape have a primary interest in its future. Any actions to recognise and manage landscapes must be developed in association with the people of that landscape

3. Standard conservation approaches may be inappropriate the management of valued landscapes, particularly where they are extensive and/or occur on privately owned land. Instead, a sustainable development approach may be more appropriate, conserving the valued aspects of the landscape while seeking to ensure the economic, cultural and environmental sustainability of the landscape as a whole.

4. The sustainable management of landscape values may require partnerships between owners, iwi/hapu, communities, interest groups, professional disciplines, agencies and the commercial sector. The foundation for any partnership should be mutual respect and a common interest in the landscape, accepting that full significance arises from the totality of values.

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5. By being informed as to the range of values implicit in the landscape, better decisions can be made as to the form and location of new activities and developments. In particular, an understanding of the interactions between forms, relationships and practices, and an appreciation of the embedded as well as the surface values, can help ensure that change processes enhance and reinforce landscape values rather than detract from them.

9.6 Relevance for other disciplines

The landscape framework has been developed in the first instance as a response to the need for better understanding and integration of landscape information amongst planners. The approaches and methods used in other landscape-related disciplines, each of which has its own specific interest in landscape, are not under question. There are two areas, however, in which the framework may have a useful cross-over into other disciplines.

The first of these is that the concepts offered by the framework may assist disciplines (or agencies using discipline-based assessment methods) to look more broadly at what constitutes value or significance. As noted earlier, the models highlight the tendency for disciplines to focus on certain landscape components. To use a single example, the primary focus of many heritage agencies on historic buildings can be interpreted as an interest in ‘forms’ in terms of the Cultural Values Model, and an interest in ‘nodes’ in terms of the Dimensional Landscape Model. The research carried out here suggests that communities and culture groups also value practices and relationships, including in the dimensions of networks, spaces and patterns. If these are also accepted as part of ‘heritage’, the landscape framework can offer a structured way in which the broader components of cultural value could be approached. The approach is also more aligned with indigenous views of heritage, as discussed in Chapter 5.3. In some jurisdictions, as noted in Chapter 2, a ‘landscape’ approach to heritage has been adopted, using descriptors such as ‘heritage landscapes’ or ‘cultural landscapes’. The models also may offer some assistance in the analysis and management of such landscapes, and in

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particular may go some way toward addressing the need for a ‘holistic model of landscape’ called for in the Declaration on Heritage Landscapes (ICOMOS USA 2004).

The landscape framework also has potential relevance as a conceptual basis for digital information systems, such as Geographic Information Systems (GIS). These systems are already used by a variety of disciplines to record and analyse spatial information, but, as noted by McGlade (1999), their primary limitation is lack of a conceptual framework. The models offered by the landscape framework, and in particular the layers, webs and other dimensions proposed in the Dimensional Landscape Model, have the potential to be adapted for use within GIS and offer a coherent conceptual basis for modelling spatial and temporal values. This area may be particularly fruitful for further research and application.

9.7 Relevance for inter-disciplinary work

The potential for ‘landscape’ to provide a basis for synthesising multi-disciplinary endeavours has been noted in Chapter 6. The landscape concept allows multiple investigators to pursue different research topics, yet contribute collectively to a more comprehensive understanding of spatial, temporal, ecological and cognitive concepts. It also provides an opportunity for collective ventures between disciplines and communities where an interest in landscape values is shared (e.g. Groth and Bressi 1997, Dakin 2003, Stewart, Liebert, and Larkin 2004). But, as described in Chapter 6, a number of problems have led to landscape’s unifying potential being as yet unmet. Central to this is the lack of common ground between disciplines themselves, and between disciplines and communities. Part of the difficulty in finding common ground, I suggest, is that ‘landscape’ has a confusing duality: it is both substantive and conceptual.

In its substantive sense, landscape has a bundle of meanings defined in various ways by disciplines and associated communities. Like a mirrored ball, it may reflect a different image depending on the interest or world-view of the viewer. The reflected image may be a physical object, a perception, a system and/or a relationship, or any of the other

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components of landscape discussed above. In this sense, landscape is something to be looked at, analysed, understood, valued or managed, from any one of a myriad points of view.

Discipline-based landscape assessments generally consider the substantive aspect of landscape. Certain facets of the landscape are chosen for investigation, and significance is assessed according to predetermined information caches. The resulting information stands alone as a fragment, informative in its own right, but not representative of the totality of landscape.

As a concept, landscape is more akin to an umbrella; a common concept that can be shared by disciplines and communities. As a figurative umbrella, landscape is not defined by any universal theory or discipline, nor by any universally shared methodologies. The resulting problem is that, while disciplines may place themselves partly in its shade, they do not necessarily know how to talk to one another. They are even less likely to be able to step outside and see the shape of the whole. As noted by authors such as McGlade (1999) and Terkenli (2001), this is a fundamental reason why the potential of the landscape concept has not been realised. While ‘landscape’ offers exciting possibilities for cross-fertilisation of theory and practice, as a concept it lacks an integrated theoretical and analytical framework. To extend the metaphor, the struts that define the shape, strength and unity of the umbrella are largely unformed.

A core issue in developing a conceptual framework is in accounting for different sources of information and knowledge so that they can be integrated into an understanding of the whole. It is unnecessary for all landscape information to use the same methodology, and nor does it matter if disciplinary theories differ, as long as a common frame of reference is available to provide a conceptual overview and the necessary linkages. Metaphorically speaking, this involves defining the struts of the umbrella. They need to be developed so as to have a reasonable fit with the range of ways in which disciplines and communities conceive ‘landscape’, to convey the range of substantive meanings implicit in ‘landscape’, and to have the capacity to be logically integrated.

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The framework of the Cultural Values Model and Dimensional Landscape Model offers some potential struts for this conceptual umbrella. It provides the basis for an integrated, multi-disciplinary perspective, while avoiding the need for disciplines to base their landscape-related work on a common theory or methodology. By focusing on the outcomes of the work, rather than the way the work is carried out, the conceptual framework is able to draw together and link information around the key concepts of the models while still respecting the disparate origins of the information.

The fundamental propositions of the landscape framework are aimed to be reasonably compatible with mainstream disciplinary approaches to understanding landscape, having been developed on the one hand out of the totality of disciplinary landscape concepts, and on the other hand from common disciplinary modelling methods. Working at the level of a single landscape, the landscape framework provides conceptual ‘struts’ for inter-disciplinary discourse, and provides the opportunity for an integrated understanding of the landscape as a whole. At a more general level, the language and structure offered by the framework may offer the potential for disciplines to share, compare and integrate landscape information, generating new forms of trans- disciplinary knowledge. Opportunities exist at both of these levels for further research and testing of the usefulness of the landscape framework.

The incorporation of indigenous understandings of landscape into the framework provides further opportunities for testing its relevance and utility. The fundamental concepts of the framework were consciously designed to reflect to the range of values that might be expressed by indigenous groups, or at least by those within Māori and Aboriginal cultures. It proved to be useful in relation to values expressed by Māori in the Akaroa case study, but it would be more revealing if the framework could be tested within a wholly indigenous setting. If it could be shown to be a useful basis for expressing core indigenous landscape values, the framework could provide a common conceptual umbrella under which disciplines and indigenous culture groups could further their common interests in the landscape.

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As a unifying concept, the landscape framework offers the potential to move past the reductionism implicit in single landscape approaches, towards a more holistic and integrated approach. Advantages include the potential for improved inter-disciplinary interchanges, a comprehensive multi-disciplinary understanding of landscape, and a basis for collective ventures between disciplines and communities. In this way, landscape can be appreciated in its duality – in both its substantive form of multiple perspectives, and in its conceptual form as a unifier of knowledge and values.

9.8 Relevance to theories on the nature of space and time

Having developed the landscape framework, there are some clear synergies with the growing interest in literature as to the nature of space, and of spatio-temporal interactions, as discussed in Chapter 5. The framework attempts, first, to offer a way past the mutually exclusive ways of considering the world and instead offers a pluralistic approach that is not solely reliant on Euclidean-based representational techniques (May and Thrift 2001). It provides a way into understanding people’s experience of space, rather than solely focusing on the presentation of location and proximity (Bingham 2000). In stepping beyond dualisms such as nature-culture and objective-subjective, it offers an understanding of landscape that recognises that humans cannot be teased apart from their relationships with their surroundings (Gren 2001). By incorporating an understanding of valued practices and processes, it highlights the importance of the interactions of humans and their environment, as propounded for example as ‘habitus’ by Bourdieu (Webb 2002) or as ‘dwelling perspective by Ingold (2000).

Propositions as to the nature of space itself suggest that rather than being a set of absolute physical relationships, it is a fluid and dynamic complex of repetitions, folds, differentials and discontinuities in which there is no unity, only multiplicity (Gren 2001, Doel 2000). The landscape framework attempts to find a way to express this dynamism and multiplicity through its pared-down set of inter-related propositions. Additionally, the framework is inclusive of a temporal dimension, which reflects in part the recent

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burgeoning literature on the temporality of space (e.g. Hägerstrand 1982, Crang and Travlou 2001, Thrift 2002). While not directly capturing the multiple and heterogenous experience of time, the landscape framework goes some way towards understanding the time-depth of relationship, form and practice inherent in any landscape.

May and Thrift have pointed out (2001) that discussions in geographic literature as to the nature of space and time is still largely at the level of metaphor. The landscape framework has attempted to move one step beyond metaphor, by grounding the two models of landscape values in contemporary and reported expressions of landscape significance. While the framework is not at an operational level, it may offer a conceptual linkage between some of the contemporary abstract thinking on space and time with the real and urgent needs to improve the management of cultural values in landscapes.

9.9 Validity

The final stage of the research process is to assess its validity. In Chapter 3 (research Design) it was suggested that validity would be measured in three ways: firstly through the triangulation of data sets, secondly through assessment of the outcomes against the research objectives, and thirdly in relation to the validity of the models as theory.

9.9.1 Triangulation

Triangulation has been a constant process throughout the research, using the primary data sets and the data generated through analysis of relevant literature. In Chapter 5, the understandings of landscape held by disciplines and by indigenous groups were compared against those expressed by members of the Bannockburn community and were found to have a high degree of synchronicity. In Chapters 6 and 7, the Cultural Values and Dimensional Landscape models were developed through contrasting and synthesising disciplinary and indigenous landscape models, and particularly through identification of consistent themes in the literature. The validity of the models rests in

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large part on their being developed so as to incorporate concepts shared across disciplines and across world-views.

Chapter 8 incorporates two forms of triangulation. Firstly, the findings of the Akaroa study were compared against the Bannockburn findings, and it was found that the range of types of values expressed were very similar even though the landscapes themselves were very different (see Chapter 8, Table 8). Secondly, the Akaroa findings were analysed using the Cultural Values and Dimensional Landscape models. The models were highly relevant to the nature and range of values expressed, whether expressed in disciplinary studies, by community members, or by Māori with special associations with the landscape. Overall, a high degree of consistency was found amongst the data sets, and between the data sets and the models. Accordingly, in these respects, the research findings can be said to have validity.

9.9.2 Research objectives

The research objectives were outlined in Chapter 1, and were developed to ensure that the model development remained focused on the primary research problem as identified in that chapter. The objectives sought to develop models that could: 1. represent the range of types of cultural value expressed 2. offer an integrated approach 3. assist in linking values to landscape elements 4. assist in informing landscape management decisions

The discussion in Chapter 8 and in this chapter has largely focused on whether the models meet these objectives, and so will only be summarised here. In relation to Objective 1, the results of the Akaroa study showed that the range and types of values expressed during the interviews were able to be represented by the models, with the conceptual structure of the Cultural Values Model capturing the ideas and meanings expressed, and the Dimensional Landscape Model proving to be suitable for conveying both tangible and intangible values.

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Both models contribute to the integrated approach sought in Objective 2, avoiding the fractionation and cleaving inherent in many single-discipline approaches. The Cultural Landscape Model represents landscape values as dynamic forms, practices and relationships, and locates these in the continuum of time. It enables values to be considered in relation to one another and in relation to the landscape as a whole.

The Dimensional Landscape Model integrates information at a more applied level, and addresses Objective 3. The concepts of nodes, networks, spaces, webs and layers provide an interconnected structure through which values can be located in space and time, so that their relational aspects are visible.

In relation to Objective 4, the usefulness of the models in informing landscape management practice has been discussed in Section 9.5. Although further research and development is required, the fundamental concepts of the landscape framework provide a useful basis for comprehensive research, analysis and management of landscape values by planners and others. The research objectives have therefore been met.

9.9.3 Validity as theory

The final point to consider in relation to validity is whether the landscape framework developed in the research process is valid as theory. Gudeman and Penn (1982) and Sarantakos (1993) suggest that a theoretical model should aid the understanding of phenomena through a simplified way of representing essential characteristics. It should be conveyed through a core language of logically interrelated components, and should have explanatory power.

In developing the models, the four key steps in the theory-building process outlined by Sarantakos were followed (see Chapter 3, Fig 3). Initial concepts that classified key elements were developed in Chapters 4 and 5. In Chapters 5-7, these concepts were analysed, tested and classified, and propositions made about their relationships. The propositions were presented in a systematic way as two models, the Cultural Values

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Model in Chapter 6 and the Dimensional Landscape Model in Chapter 7. These models were then tested and modified in Chapter 8.

The resulting landscape framework aids in understanding cultural values in landscapes through sets of interconnected key concepts, offering a simplified language for considering landscape values. Within each model, the core concepts form a unified whole, and the two models are also strongly interrelated. The models have been tested and have been found to have explanatory power: the Cultural Values Model offering an improved understanding of what creates significance in the landscape, and the Dimensional Landscape Model providing a means of identifying what is given significance. Accordingly, I suggest that the landscape framework offered by the Cultural Values Model and Dimensional Landscape Model is valid as theory.

9.10 Conclusion

The research process has been unexpectedly fruitful in offering some fresh perspectives on the nature of cultural values in landscapes, and in generating a theoretical framework that has potential utility outside of the initial parameters of the research problem. The research was designed to address the inadequate recognition and management of valued aspects of landscapes by the planning discipline, but it was discovered that the issues was more deep-seated than a question of appropriate methodology. The review of planning literature revealed that this limitation was not so much an applied issue as a conceptual one. In part, this was identified as a deficiency in conceptualising qualitative values, but even more fundamental was the lack of a framework to consider the totality of landscape values in an integrated and holistic way. The subsequent review of the literature of other disciplines revealed that this issue was also being discussed in a number of other fields, most commonly in relation to the unrealised potential of the landscape concept to engender inter-disciplinary and trans-disciplinary work.

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The research process, as reported in Chapters 4 to 8, was designed to address this issue through the development of two theoretical models. This was guided by the core research question: How can formal and informal ‘knowledge’ about cultural values in the landscape be better understood and linked to the landscape in an integrated way, so as to assist in robust decision-making?

For the purposes of the research process, the core question was split into two sub- questions. Sub-question 1 – What range and nature of cultural values are expressed about landscapes by both formal and informal sources? – was ultimately addressed by the development of the Cultural Values Model, which offers a way of considering values and meanings in an integrated and holistic way. Sub-question 2 – How can landscapes be conceptualised so as to usefully create links between expressed values and the landscape? – was addressed by the Dimensional Landscape Model, which provides a framework for representing how landscape values are located in time and space.

The final phrase of the core research question – so as to assist in robust decision- making – has been discussed in Section 9.5. The landscape framework has a wide variety of potential applications for improving decision-making. As a conceptual framework, it makes a contribution to the lack of socio-spatial models within planning theory, and provides a way of considering the spatial and temporal dimensions of cultural values. At the level of planning practice, it has the potential to provide a new conceptual and methodological frame for research, analysis and management decision- making at a landscape level. At a trans-disciplinary level, its conceptual structure offers a way for multiple disciplines to contribute to an integrated understanding of landscape.

The research process has thus successfully addressed the core research question. Through the development of a framework for understanding and linking cultural values in landscapes, it provides a way to consider multiple values in an integrated way, so as to make better-informed decisions about landscape change.

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CHAPTER 10

CONCLUDING COMMENTS

10.1 The research process

The research process has been a little like opening Pandora’s Box. What appeared to be a relatively straightforward issue – how to make better decisions in the face of the anguish felt by communities and culture groups when their local landscapes are under threat of change – opened into much more deep-seated theoretical and methodological problem. The issue extended in three interrelated directions. Firstly, it raised some fundamental questions about how landscapes and their values are perceived by the planning discipline. Secondly, it required exploration of how other disciplines conceive of landscape. Thirdly, it called for an examination of the elusive sense of place: the way in which landscapes exude localised meaning and significance, and in so doing contribute to the sense of identity of people, communities and culture groups. The relevance of the findings to each of these fields will be discussed shortly.

Although aspects of the research problem had been commented on in a variety of contexts, the myriad of perspectives made initial exploration of the research problem very frustrating. The literature was suffused with discussion about the nature of landscape, with various writers proffering an exclusive definition of landscape, often particular to a discipline or a world-view. Some aspects of the issue had been exhaustively addressed, particularly at an applied level. What became clear, however, was that there was a general lack of consistency between disciplines, and that little work had been done at an inter-disciplinary level. Landscape issues were being addressed in many different ways in practice, but it was occurring in a fragmented way with little apparent inter-disciplinary awareness. In the planning discipline, itself a core synthesiser of multi-disciplinary information, there was little discussion of how to

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consider spatial significance, except at either a very general, über-landscape level, or at the very detailed level of localised (and fractionated) landscape assessments.

Because of the many views offered of the nature of landscape and its values, it would have been possible for the research to have focused in on any one of the innumerable intra- or inter-disciplinary discussions. The approach chosen at the outset of the research, however, was that landscape is an inclusive concept, not an exclusive one. This notion became the core idea which led to the ‘blank slate’ approach to the meaning and significance of landscape, and which ultimately resulted in the models’ broad inter- disciplinary relevance.

The landscape framework stands on the shoulders of the theories, knowledge, and insights of many others. The basic building blocks of the models emerged from a synthesis of landscape concepts from many disciplines and from indigenous world- views. The components of the models were sourced from these existing ‘ways of seeing’ and are thus not fundamentally original. The originality of the framework lies, I suggest, in three areas – in its focus on value and significance rather than landscape itself; in its integration of the myriad ‘ways of seeing’ into a common set of concepts; and in the creation of the interrelated sets of concepts by which ‘values’ and ‘dimensions’ are modelled and linked. These key concepts include forms, practices, and relationships; their dynamic interactions and their temporality; the concepts of surface and embedded values; the notion of cleaving; and the dimensional descriptors of nodes, networks, spaces, webs and layers.

The resulting landscape framework is highly flexible. As noted in Chapter 9, it is potentially applicable at both conceptual and applied levels. At a conceptual level, it provides a ‘way of thinking’ conveyed through the key ideas of the two interrelated landscape models. At an applied level, it provides a ‘way of doing’ based in the underlying inclusive approach of the framework, and structured around the models’ key concepts. It is not, however, the same as a landscape assessment. Its intention is not to attempt to describe the landscape as a whole, but to offer a ‘way in’ to understanding the whole, and a means of linking different sources of information to make a whole. It

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does not offer a specialised understanding of landscape values – this is provided by the information source – but it provides a link to the sources, notes the key subject matters, and, importantly, generates an awareness of the gaps and disciplinary blind-spots which might not otherwise be obvious.

10.2 Relevance to planning

In Chapter 1, the research problem was ‘placed’ in the planning context of the perceived lack of appropriate management of cultural values in landscapes. A basic reality of planning is its sometimes uncomfortable role between market forces on the one hand, and social and environmental needs on the other. As a fundamentally rational activity, planning is more comfortable with objective and measurable phenomena than the subjective complexities of values. In relation to landscapes, further complications arise out of the need to account for spatial and temporal dimensions, and to grapple with the relative significance of different aspects of the landscape, all the while bearing in mind that most of the ‘land’ of landscape is likely to be subject to private property rights.

The landscape framework does not offer planning an easy way out of these difficulties. It is not a blueprint for streamlined decision-making. If anything, it suggests that planning needs to be more deliberative, more attentive, and more inclusive. It needs to become more comfortable with matters of value, more accustomed to drawing on information sourced in humanist disciplines, and better at synthesising rational with interpretive material. All of these may mean more consultation and more work for planners.

The advantages, however, are potentially significant. From a conceptual to an applied level, engaging in a ‘landscape’ frame provides an integrated means of understanding place and space. It provides an overarching means of considering the myriad values heard as whispers as development threatens, and shouts when it is too late. It offers common framework of understanding, so that planning and other disciplines can work together with communities and culture groups to generate improved understandings of localised significance. It provides an analytical tool to help determine how future

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development can occur so that cultural values are maintained and enhanced. It helps discover the nature of local sustainability. It enables planners to ‘design with culture’ as well as nature. Overarching this, it offers a means for planning to make better-informed decisions that incorporate understandings of place and identity into the decision-making mix.

10.3 Relevance to other disciplines

For other disciplines interested in landscape, the framework provides the wherewithal to ‘locate’ the particular interests of their discipline in relation to others using the Cultural Values and Dimensional Landscape models. It may also generate a greater awareness of the landscape concept as a whole, and may encourage disciplines with an interest in landscape to explore some additional landscape components.

It is at the inter-disciplinary level, however, that the framework has greater potential significance. Despite the primary focus of this research on addressing the planning problem, the challenge of inter-disciplinary landscape work also underlay the development of the models. The essence of this challenge is captured by Jones' (1991) call for a “clarifying theoretical discussion” (p230) on different ways of understanding landscape’s reality, and Terkenli's (2001) argument for an “integrated, comprehensive theoretical and analytical framework” (p198) to address landscape study, assessment and planning. As discussed in Chapter 9, the landscape framework addresses this challenge through its conceptual ‘umbrella’ - a common frame of reference that captures the range of values expressed by disciplines and the key methods of representing those values. Through the interrelated concepts and language of the models, different ways of understanding landscape’s reality can be understood, and the resulting information can be integrated and analysed. While further research and testing of its capabilities are required, the potential of the landscape framework is in improving the sharing of information between disciplines, and ultimately to produce new forms of trans- disciplinary understanding.

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10.4 Relevance to insider values

The case studies at Bannockburn and Akaroa were critical to the development of the framework. The simple question that motivated the interviews - what is important to you about this landscape? - proved to be exceptionally fruitful. It led to a wealth of information that ultimately revealed a great deal about the nature of localised values, and in doing so provided a ‘way in’ to understanding some of the subtleties of place and identity. Being able to include the cultural perspectives of both Māori and European lent extra depth to the studies, and enabled a practical demonstration of the need to develop a framework that was inclusive of non-western world-views. It also granted some insights into the way in which different cultures are embedded in the landscape.

Having been developed, in part, from expressions of value by those attached to particular landscapes, it is hoped that the landscape framework will prove to be a useful tool for community and culture groups to find ways of describing their relationships with the landscape. This is not to say this does not occur already, using a variety of informal (e.g. songs, spirituality, art) and formal (e.g. parish maps) means. What the models offer, however, is a generic cluster of concepts that allow values to be given legitimacy and to be linked to the landscape dimensions. They are sufficiently non- specific so as to be adaptable to a variety of different means of expression. It would be exciting to see them tested by ‘insiders’, and adapted to cultural circumstances as necessary, so that they were able to convey the localised significance of landscapes in a way that is meaningful to both communities and decision-makers.

10.5 Further research

The conscious decision to take an inclusive approach has had rewarding outcomes, but has also had some challenges. The key challenge was the risk of carrying out research within a range of unfamiliar disciplines. The breadth of the research meant it was not possible to research deeply into any particular discipline; the best that could be hoped was a broad-brush appreciation of dominant themes within a particular literature. In

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moving into the literature of unfamiliar disciplines, risks included the possibility of misinterpreting a disciplinary approach, or placing the wrong emphasis on a finding because of an inadequate knowledge of the discipline as a whole. A related risk was that the specific interests of disciplines of landscape could have been subsumed because the disciplinary literature was predominantly combed to draw out generalities and commonalities, rather than highlight the differences between disciplines. In some senses, then, the research could be considered to be too generalist. However, the nature of cross-disciplinary work involves undertaking such risks in the interests of gaining a general appreciation of the various fields of interest while avoiding superficial conclusions. The potential drawbacks of this approach, I suggest, is more than made up for by the trans-disciplinary relevance of the landscape framework that has emerged from the research.

Nevertheless, further research, testing and refinement of the framework will be required. Because of the necessary breadth of this research process, and its limited origins in two case studies, the landscape framework in its present form should be seen as a beginning point. Some possibilities for further research have already been outlined in Chapter 9. At a more fundamental level, it would be useful to test both the conceptual and applied relevance of the framework in greater depth.

At a conceptual level, it would be useful for the framework to be examined and trialled from within a variety of the disciplines that have an interest in landscape. This would help address the possible theoretical weakness inherent in the cross-disciplinary origins of the framework. It would also benefit from being tested within other cultural paradigms. Although the research attempted to be inclusive of other world-views, it was carried out within a western frame and was also limited by the broad span of the inquiry. Cross-cultural application could test whether the framework is valid to convey non-western understandings of landscape, or whether it requires adaptation.

The relevance of the landscape framework to the socio-spatial ‘void’ in planning is a further potential area for research. As described in the review of planning literature, some authors have called for a way of conceptualising the non-rational complexities of

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space. The landscape framework has a relatively specific function vis-à-vis the more generic requirements expressed in the literature, but it may have some useful concepts to offer towards theorising the spatial matrix.

The framework would also benefit from being tested in a variety of applied situations. Some of these have already been mentioned in Chapter 9, and include applications of the models to urban landscapes, ‘ordinary’ landscapes, and highly valued landscapes. It would also be interesting to include the views of tourists and other visitors, and to compare these outsider views with the insider views of the same landscape. Further research could be carried out using the framework to compare different cultural perceptions of landscape value.

Additionally, the framework’s relevance to assisting in planning decision-making needs to be tested. It would be useful to apply the models to a variety of planning scenarios, such as a landscape under threat from a major development proposal, a landscape that was subject to incremental change, and a landscape which was proposed to be conserved. Such applications could be used to assess how useful the model is in engaging with relevant communities of interest, in generating an integrated understanding of landscape values, and in developing useful solutions. A further area to explore is the framework’s potential contribution to understanding and sustaining cultural identity and diversity. By highlighting the continuity of cultural forms, practices and relationships, and highlighting the dynamic linkages between these, the framework may be of particular assistance in applying sustainability concepts at the level of community-environment interactions.

In short, the thesis has laid the groundwork for an integrated approach to understanding spatial and temporal values, and in doing so has opened up a range of research opportunities to apply, test and refine the landscape framework.

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10.6 Conclusion

The research set out to develop a framework for understanding and linking multiple cultural values in landscapes. Through engaging with the literature of planning and other disciplines, and drawing from the views of those with close associations with particular landscapes, a framework has been developed consisting of two interrelated models. These offer an integrated approach to considering values expressed in both formal (disciplinary) and informal (insider) settings, and linking these values to the dimensions of the landscape.

A particularly profitable outcome has been the usefulness of the landscape framework at both conceptual and applied levels. While further testing and inquiry is essential, the models appear to have utility not only in relation to the study of individual landscapes, but also within the planning discipline, in other landscape-related disciplines, for communities and culture groups attached to landscapes, and for inter-disciplinary work.

As an inclusive concept, ‘landscape’ has the breadth to encompass multiple meanings and multiple voices. Without a structured way to draw together these voices and develop an integrated understanding, meanings and values can be cumulatively lost. The framework provided by the Cultural Values Model and Dimensional Landscape Model provides a means of understanding and capturing collective significance, so that landscapes can be managed in the context of their values in space and time.

364 Sources Consulted

In addition to all cited references, this bibliography includes other sources that have substantially affected the form or content of the thesis. This was done so as to indicate the breadth of reading that was undertaken to develop a background understanding of the research area. Additionally, this list of sources may be of assistance to others who wish to carry out further research in this area.

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365 Anderson, Kay, and Fay Gale, eds. 1992. Inventing Places - studies in cultural geography. Melbourne: Halsted Press. Andrews, Malcolm. 1989. The Search for the Picturesque: Landscape, Aesthetics and Tourism in Britain 1760-1800. Aldershot: Scolar Press. Andrus, Patrik W. 1992. Guidelines for Identifying, Evaluating and Registering America's Historic Battlefields. National Register Bulletin, National Parks Service USA 40. anon. 1843. Les Europeens a la Nouvelle-Zelande. Magasin Pittoresque XI (47):373-76. Anschuetz, Kurt F., Richard Wilshusen, and Cherie Scheick. 2001. An Archaeology of Landscapes: Perspectives and Directions. Journal of Archaeological Research 9 (2). Antrop, Marc. 2005. Why landscapes of the past are important for the future. Landscape and Urban Planning 70 (1-2):21-34. Antrop, Marc., and Veerle Van Eetvelde. 2000. Holistic aspects of suburban landscapes: visual image interpretation and landscape metrics. Landscape and Urban Planning 50 (1-3):43-58. Aplin, Graeme. 2002. Heritage: Identification, Conservation and Management. Australia: Oxford University Press. Appleton, Jay. 1997. The Integrity of the Landscape Movement. In Understanding Ordinary Landscapes, edited by P. Groth, and Todd W. Bressi. New Haven and London: Yale University Press. Arendt, Randall, Michael Leccese, and Kathleen McCormick. 1999. The Charter of the New Urbanism. New York: McGraw Hill. Arnold, Philip P., and Ann Grodzins Gold, eds. 2001. Sacred Landscapes and Cultural Politics. Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing. Atkins, Peter, Ian Simmons, and Brian Roberts. 1998. People, Land and Time. London, New York: Arnold. Australian Council of National Trusts. 1999. National Policy for the Conservation of Cultural Landscapes. Heritage in Trust (Spring):8-9 Avrami, Erica, Randall Mason, and Marta de la Torre. 2000. Values and Heritage Conservation - Research Report. Los Angeles: The Getty Conservation Institute [cited 23 May 2003]. Available from www.getty.edu/conservation/resources/valuesrpt.pdf Ayres, William S. and Rufino Mauricio. 1999. Definition, ownership and conservation of indigenous landscapes at Salapwuk, Pohnpei, Micronesia. In The Archaeology and Anthropology of Landscape - Shaping your landscape, edited by P. J. Ucko and R. Layton. London, New York: Routledge. Bancroft, Robyne. 2003. Landscape of the Country which my Family calls 'Home'. Australian Heritage Commission 2002 [cited 18 June 2003]. Available from http://heritageforum/truenorth.net.au/InspirationalLandscapes/pdf/perspective.

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393 394 Personal communications

Haylock, Peter. Farmer, Akaroa, 3 July 2004

Jacomb, Chris. Regional Archaeologist, New Zealand Historic Places Trust, Christchurch, 28 October 2003

Manawatu, Tim. Administrator, Onuku Runanga, 21 June 2004

Parker, Bob. Mayor, Banks Peninsula District Council, 24 June 2004

Wybrow, Robin. Special Projects Manager, Ngai Tahu Development Corporation, 28 October 2003

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